Haastal
by AtinBralor
Summary: Another Wolfpack tale
1. Chapter 1

_**Haastal (mando'a); a lasting emotional scar**_

* * *

_**This is Jaro's story;**_

_**A Wolfpack tale**_

* * *

The break on Coruscant had seemed nice change of scenery but really it was just days of intensive training followed by the same boring nights at base. Wolffe had banned any wild cavorting and kept his pack confined to the base until tonight – the final night before they left. It wasn't that he didn't trust them; he just didn't like having them out every night. It was too civilian like, and it only made the return to the flagship and the isolated service more difficult. One night was just the right amount to let everyone have some fun without losing sense of what they belonged to.

All the training had gone well and everything was seeming so perfect – and then he had got a call from the General, informing him of another new addition to his pack. Someone he had to meet with, introduce to the squad and get health checked and signed off…all in a few hours_. Why couldn't they be more organised? _They could have sorted this out days ago and given him time to do all this. He could always forgo the night out and then there'd be more time, but after this added stress he needed the break. The last transfer had ended in tears – literally – and he had no desire to go through that again. This was just another body under his command; another number.

Wolffe flopped back down in to his chair just as the knock sounded from his office door. "Yes."

He folded his arms and scrutinised the trooper who entered his room. He'd read the details of the transfer from top to bottom and felt he knew everything there was to know about the man.

He was from the first batch of clones dispatched from Kamino and he'd seen service from day one of the war.

A specialist sniper – highly experienced, but for reasons known only to command level, the remaining members of his team were being split up to provide expert skills to different companies.

He wore grey camo patterned armour – and a scowl that could rival Wolffe's. No obvious scars, but then his job kept him out of sight…if he failed that part he wouldn't have got this far! His hair was combed back meticulously neat and his facial hair was trimmed in to a tidy goatee.

He emanated an air of arrogance.

"CT-6696 reporting, sir."

Wolffe pushed himself to his feet, deciding that there was no point hanging around any longer than necessary. The sooner he got this over and done with the better. He could palm off groups of shinies on the sergeants to do the introductions, but specialist transfers were his to deal with. "CC-3636, Commander Wolffe. Your name, trooper?"

"Don't have one, sir. Nine-Six will suffice."

Doesn't have a name…this far in to the war. That was pretty much unheard of, but if he wanted to play the interesting character, Wolffe had no intention of rising to the bait.

"Okay, Nine-Six. I'll take you down to the medbay now where Ghost will do your medical. He'll show you your quarters – not that you'll spend long there. We ship out again tomorrow afternoon. You're in Sergeant Sinker's squad although you'll be working slightly to the side of the normal pattern, as I'm sure you know well enough. You answer to him but he won't be guiding you. Do you understand?" He led the way through the base towards the medbay, keeping his stride long and quick.

Ghost was waiting patiently in the examination room. "Good afternoon, sir. Ready for this evening?" He had a calm and easy smile on his face, looking forward to the night down at 79's. It wasn't often that the squad got a good night out all together like this, well away from enemy fire. The commander always ensure that they trained hard when they were back on Coruscant; reminding them all that they were all the more likely to reach the next visit if they kept fighting at their peak. He turned his smile on the grim newcomer. "Hi, vod. My name's Ghost. I'm medic in the squad you're joining. Nice to meet you." He held out his hand, but the sniper didn't take it so he let it drop back to his side.

Wolffe waved Nine-Six towards the examination table. "Strip and Ghost will go over your medical." He managed a smile for his medic brother. "This is Nine-Six. He's a sniper specialist. He's been in service since day one on Geonosis. No significant injuries on record, but still go through everything. When you're finished, take him back and introduce him to the lads. Make sure he's ready to come along with us. It'll be a good squad bonding opportunities."

* * *

The drink was as bad as ever after a few it wasn't noticeable anymore and the pleasant warmth was enjoyable. Boost was on fine form, keeping everyone entertained with his antics.

Wolffe watched their new brother with curiosity. He had hoped to see him lighten up a little with the alcohol but no matter how much passed his lips, the frown never changed…and a lot was being consumed. Nine-Six was drinking at a faster rate than his new squad and was so unsteady on his final trip to the fresher that he almost fell, not noticing the slight raise in the doorway. He regained his composure – and gave anyone who may have noticed his stumble the meanest glare possible.

Boost, who had been in the process of offering him a hand for balance, recoiled at the complete hatred. "Hey..easy, ner vod. Just one too many, okay?"

Nine-Six swayed, almost as if he may lunge, but he pulled back and made his unsteady way back to his chair without so much as a backwards glance.

His demeanour didn't improve even as they started to head back to the barracks. They took an air-taxi as a small luxury, saving them the long walk back.

The driver was a Chistori male. It seemed like an unusual job for a species like this, but he certainly wouldn't take any non-sense from his passengers…that much was clear. He kept glancing in his mirror at them with a critical eye. "Your friend…is he okay?"

Boost peered to his right in the dark cab. "Hey, Nine-Six…you okay, vod?" All he got was a gruff exhalation as an answer, but their new brother was propped against the window with his eyes closed against the flickering, zooming lights. He had a peaky, pale hue to his face. "Eh, I think he's alright but you may want to avoid any sudden movements…"

The Chistori fixed him with his reptilian glare in the mirror. "I don't do messy passengers and certainly no clone hatchlings who can't hold their liquor. I'll set you down – he's walking."

Wolffe propped himself up a bit, squinting at their sniper. "He'll be okay. Clones have strong constitutions. We don't want to walk all that way back."

The driver shook his head. "I don't care. I'm not having it in my cab." He dropped rapidly against the permacrete, making Nine-Six groan miserably. "See, I told you. Out." He turned and glowered at them over his shoulder.

Ghost shoved himself up and popped the door open. "I'll walk with him. You lot go back. We're only a twenty minute walk and the fresh air will do him good." He shoved the sniper out on to the pavement ahead of him. "We'll see you back at the barracks."

He stepped back to watch the taxi lift off then started the slow amble back in the general direction of home. "C'mon, ner vod." He kept close to the sniper, making sure that he didn't wander too far away among the milling crowds.

He dodged after him as he stumbled away towards the edge of the buildings. He caught up with him before he could disappear up an alley. "What are you doing? C'mere…there're civvies…"

Nine-Six tried to dodge his grasp but collided with him. "Gerroff…" He was fumbling with the front of his fatigues. "Need t'piss."

Ghost stumbled, grabbing his sleeve and yanking his hands away. "Not here you don't. You can wait till we get back." He held tight, forcing him on along the walkway. "If you shift your shebs we'll be back in ten."

He dragged him along, focusing on putting one foot in front of the other and keeping the cantankerous mass beside him moving forward. It wasn't how he planned to end his night out, but his good nature had always made him a bit of a soft touch…even when the person he was looking after didn't want looking after. There'd been no point in them all walking.

They were nearly back at the barracks when Nine-Six tried to make for the edge of the walkway again. This time Ghost let him go, releasing his grip and just following him slowly, hoping that none of the civilians took offence at a trooper vomiting up a side street.

The city never seemed to sleep. Even at this ungodly hour, there were still plenty speeders going around and the wonderful, dancing lights twinkled on as millions went about their lives.

And here he was; a clone with no citizenship, ready to ship out to some hellhole in twelve hours, waiting patiently while his miserable new squad brother emptied his stomach up some grimy alley.

_What a glorious world…_

He turned and took a few steps towards him, squinting in the gloom. "Are you doing okay there?" He wanted to be short tempered with him, but the medic inside never switched off. There was always a reason for everything a trooper did and he was willing to give them the benefit of the doubt._ He spent his working days up to his elbows in blood and body fluids…what harm would a little more do?_

He moved closer, trying to pat his back but the trooper shrugged his shoulders violently and shuffled to turn away from him. He persisted and this time he managed to make gentle contact, rubbing circles as he coughed and retched. "I'm a medic, ner vod…I don't take no for an answer."

His patience paid off because he wasn't chased away this time and when the sniper was suitably recovered, they continued in to the barracks.

The rest of the squad were already back, getting ready for bed. Wolffe was sitting on Ghost's bunk, dozing until his squad were all back in one piece. As bad tempered and strict as he was, he never rested until he had everyone where they should be. He watched Ghost lead their new brother to his bunk and deposit him on the mattress. "Is he okay?"

Ghost nodded, pulling the trooper's shirt off over his head. He pointed towards the fresher. "Go pee."

Boost watched as the bad tempered sniper heaved himself off his bunk and toddled off where he was told. He waited until he was out of sight before turning to Ghost with a silly grin. "How did you manage to tame him?!"

Ghost shook his head. "I've not…he's just got enough sense to know a good suggestion when he hears one. It's still like poking a sleeping nexu."

Wolffe stood to the side and waited while they chatted amiably amongst themselves, waiting until they were all in the general vicinity of their bunks. "One last training session tomorrow. 09:00 hours…some zero-g work." He ignored the mutinous mutterings. "It'll do you good. Always better to get practice in before the real thing. 09:00, no late arrivals and no excuses."

* * *

_**Another Wolfpack OC story...what can I say...they all demand their own story and who am I to say no... ~ Atin **_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Wolffe stood at the view screen, watching his squad on zero-g exercise. When reading Nine-Six's training documents, he'd been surprised to see that he hadn't done any training like this since leaving Kamino. Every block of training seemed to be taken up by general fitness and marksmanship.

That wasn't any use for them; they were all fit, and they were all acceptable shots, but you had to be able to operate under zero-g and with jet packs. The Wolfpack did a lot of work with jetpacks so it was essential to get this little bit of training done before they left Coruscant again.

His squad were very competent with jetpacks and it had become something of a trademark as they used them so often when performing extractions, but the new guy was nothing like as smooth and successful.

* * *

Comet ducked as Nine-Six landed awkwardly on the platform beside them, narrowly avoiding the barrel of the sniper rifle. "Hey, watch it, vod. Look where you're swinging that thing!"

They'd made it to the end of the excise but not as quickly as they usually would. Nine-Six had struggled through the zero-g section of the course, nowhere near as skilled at manoeuvring and he had ended up floating off track on many occasions and forcing everyone to wait for him.

He had made his skills clear when the droids swarmed them though. He had hit twice as many targets as anyone else, even picking them off before they got close enough to be a major threat.

Wolffe met them all on the other side, his gaze sweeping the line of tired faces. He was disappointed but this was not the time to lower morale; they needed it when they were heading out in to difficult terrain. "Okay, good work. I need everyone ready by 13:00 hours." He let his gaze run along the line until he reached the scowling sniper. "Nine-Six, I have a few more things I need to sort with you, if you wouldn't mind staying a few moments longer."

The squad took that as their dismissal and wandered off towards the showers, leaving the commander and the sniper alone.

Wolffe turned his attention to his new trooper. He didn't like the way he scowled back. It wasn't blatantly disrespectful, but it made him feel that there was a bad attitude there and he wouldn't tolerate that.

Nine-Six returned his scrutiny, helmet under his arm and DC-15x propped against his shoulder. He had the pale look of someone who wasn't used to zero-g work – combined with a hangover from hell – but he seemed determined not to let that show. "Yes, sir, what can I do for you?"

Wolffe felt his muscles twitch but he restrained himself. He'd even managed to make the 'sir' sound sarcastic – just the right amount to show how he felt about squad work but not enough to be reprimand-able without making Wolffe look like he was being over the top. He straightened up, trying to look imposing. Usually his reputation was enough. "What you can do is stop acting the fool." That didn't quite have the desired effect, but it did make a flicker of confusion pass over the other man's face so he pressed on while he had the advantage. "That was considerably down on our usual score…you don't work as part of the team. When you're working in a squad, you need to be aware of where your brothers are at any point in time. You nearly took out Comet with your Deece's muzzle. It's out of the pan and in to the fire…we're heading straight out to perform an extraction. You must watch those around you and work with them." He eyed the cumbersome rifle. "You may want to downscale a little for the ordinary jobs…"

Nine-Six's scowl turned in to a glower at the threat to his choice of weapon. He hauled himself up taller, patting the butt of the rifle. "She has got me through every battle I've ever set foot in. Where I go…she goes." He moved his hand to touch the holsters at his waist with the DC-15s side arms. "If things get up close and personal I have these." He straightened out, glancing down at his grey camo armour; slightly different from the usual trooper kit. It was stronger and more resistant – not quite like that of the republic commandos, but it was special ops grade._ He was proud of his kit. He was proud of his skills_. "I'm not just a trooper, sir."

Wolffe was taken aback by the arrogance. This guy had no team spirit whatsoever. Did he even care about the men to his left and right? He was going to have to learn…and fast. "Get back to your squad and watch them…watch how they work together, and learn from it." He turned on his heel to stalk away, speaking quietly over his shoulder. "And do it fast or you won't last one second in this environment."

* * *

Wolfe hadn't been joking. It really was out of the pan and in to the fire. As a sniper, Nine-Six had always been in position, under his own control but here he was all over the place, trying to keep in his spot and remember what had been drilled in to him as a young cadet, before they'd selected him for sniper training.

The rest of the squad worked together so well but he kept drifting out of line, trying to think independently as they retreated back to the LAAT; forming a protective barrier for the injured marines they were extracting.

"Close up the gap!" Wolffe's voice came load over the helmet comms…yet again, reminding him that he had strayed.

He was busy keeping back an influx from his left and he was too slow to move back in to position.

He heard the crack and cry of pain as the brother to his right went down heavily with a shot to his upper chest.

"Close up! Close up! Ghost, get in there."

He felt like his mind had stalled and all he could do was stare as Ghost dropped to his knees, removing the brother's helmet to administer first aid. The trooper was gasping for air, choking on the blood that was filling his airways. Ghost was working frantically, trying help him but the brother was drowning, blood running down his cheeks from his mouth with every cough and convulsion.

"Close up! Shiny! Nine-Six, protect the medic!"

_Protect the what now? That vod was dying right in front of his eyes…they couldn't do anything…he was going to die right there...all because he made a mistake and didn't close up the gap…_

He didn't react until another shot scraped Ghost's shoulder, making him curse and duck, glancing up desperately to see who was meant to be guarding him from that direction. He saw Nine-Six, hovering as if time had stopped.

"Shiny…move yourself!"

He jerked out of his moment and closed the gap, returning fire to cover the medic. He managed to keep his position until they got back to the LAAT, staring down at the advancing droids until the blast doors slammed shut in his face and they took off at a wild angle.

He turned around to face the madness but it had got suddenly quiet. They were in the hands of the pilot now and there was nothing they could do. Ghost was sitting cross-legged on the floor while Kohl applied bacta to his injury. It wasn't bad; just a passing burn, but the body of his patient was set out beside him with a blanket draped across it. He'd lost the fight.

He stood staring down at the two medics and the body for a few minutes, unable to process what was happening. The victim had been much young, barely graduated…and he'd choked to death on his own blood, right there.

He moved away and found a spot to sit down, closing his eyes to everything going on.

When he closed his eyes within the confines of his helmet he was carried back in time.

_He was on his belly, stretched out in a scrape, watching the activities through the scope of his rifle. He had picked off his targets and he was waiting for his chance to retreat safely to the RV point. _

_Tap was holed up somewhere about a kilometre away, occasionally rambling nonsense through their private commlink. He never seemed to understand the value of quiet. It didn't matter because nobody else could hear them…and it was always some comfort to listen to him rambling some nonsense. _

_And then there was a deafening whistling sound approaching the town, and they both fell silent. _

_The explosion shook the ground and he tucked his head down between his arms until it eased. _

_As the noise died down, he started to hear the sobs. "Tap? Vod'ika, are you okay?"_

'_Rill…Rill…please, vod, please help me.'_

_He could hear the cries for help, broken up by static. There was nothing but fear and pain in the voice of his sniper partner. "Tap, I'm calling in help, hold on. Sitrep?"_

'_Partial collapse, I'm trapped…need med evac.' There was bouts of coughing and gasps for breath._

"_Tap?" _

_Static._

"_Tap?!" He couldn't make the connection. Instead he called up fleet control, running off the details for the code red extraction for his brother, praying that it would be quick enough._

'_Negative, trooper. Report back to the RV point.'_

A hand on his shoulder jerked him back to the packed LAAT, but his mind was still stumbling through the flashback. "They left him to die…" He hadn't meant to say it aloud.

"What?" Comet stood over him, offering a water bottle. "Who left who to die…we got them all out, ner vod, we always do."

"Nothing…" He ignored the bottle, tugging his own from his belt. "None of your business."


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

The only loss to the Wolfpack troops during that extraction turned out to be that young trooper. It would have been an entirely successful extraction otherwise. Nine-Six had helped Kohl move the body from the LAAT and found that his name had been Keen. He had only been out of Kamino for six weeks…barely graduated and he'd already lost his life. That had brought an icy chill to Nine-Six's gut. He felt he was responsible for that kid's death. He'd never been in that position before.

There was nothing for him to do in the medbay so he headed for the showers, following a few stragglers who were yet to get that far. As he took an empty spot towards the end of the wall he could already feel the eyes on him. He'd messed up and anyone on the extraction now knew that. Gossip travelled like wild fire among clone units.

The brother to his left have him a good look up and down, seeming to scoff at his unmarked skin. He had no particularly bad scars, which was unusual in a trooper of his experience, but as a sniper he just wasn't in the position to be injured. If a sniper was hurt it was often terminal – they were unlikely to get a passing injury because they weren't on the move in the same way as regular troopers.

He turned to face the wall, rubbing soap through his short cropped hair. He didn't like being under scrutiny like this. It made him feel vulnerable and even more alone. It wasn't his fault he didn't have scars showing his bravery. He had achieved a great deal in his career; it just wasn't etched in his skin.

He'd known one brother who had cut his own skin but that wasn't to create scarring, it was out of stress and fear. He'd never understood it, but it didn't harm anyone else. The brother had been brave and confident on the battlefield; he just retreated in to himself whenever the fighting was over. He'd been killed in a freak accident during a training activity. It was a loss felt by everyone in the squad. He may have felt he had no friends but that wasn't true. They all missed him.

It was a pity that nobody seemed to think the same of Nine-Six. The looks he got were of anger and disgust, and he didn't blame them. To be responsible for the death of a brother was unforgivable.

He gasped as the brother who had been scrutinising him dug an elbow sharply in this his ribs, passing it off as accidental shunt but it was too hard to be that. It knocked him a step back and he jarred in to the clone to his right. His intruding did not go unnoticed and he was shoved just as hard back again.

He slipped on the wet tile and landed gracelessly, trying to grab at one of them to stop his fall but they pulled away. The crack on the back of his head from the hard floor made him see stars but he'd absorbed most of the impact on his shebs – which could take the beating.

He looked up at the brothers standing over him and found, in a moment of humour, that he couldn't feel threatened because all his dazed mind could think was how bad the male body looked from this angle. Usually he could see the beauty in the lithe muscle and raw power; but not looking up from the floor. He laughed and that brought a cloud of anger to their faces.

Before they could make good on their anger they were approached by Ghost and Sinker. The presence of the sergeant was always a bucket of cold water on any potential fight. It wasn't tolerated in the Wolfpack – not since…

A few weeks after Fixer's return from his emergency mission with Commander Bly, a small scuffle broke out in one of the squads; nothing major…nothing that would carry lasting anger…just a post battle, high emotion clash. It had never been an issue before. They weren't real fights – they were just a sign of men who were feeling the emotional fatigue. They always put aside their argument once they had a square meal in their belly. It was just a momentary lapse. But this time Commander Wolffe had come down on the individuals with a ferocity that was completely alien. He had them both put on punishment detail without so much as a warning or a chance to apologise. Since then it had become a silent rule. Nobody came to blows over their arguments anymore.

Sinker stepped forward, demanding the attention of both troopers. "Vari…Stryker…you know the rules. I don't care about a little spat, but that wasn't a spat; that was bullying…and what's more, the Commander won't stand for any of it, so get on with your shower and don't let me see you repeating this again, do I make myself clear?"

The rookies both fixed him with a guilty look. They hadn't yet gotten used to the all-seeing-eyes of the sergeants. "Sir, yes, sir."

Ghost offered a hand to pull Nine-Six to his feet. "What're you grinning about, ner vod? People don't usually grin after cracking their head on the floor…" He yanked him up and gently touched the back of his head, finding a cut where he had connected with the tiles.

The sniper reached up, placing his own hands over the medic's, feeling the tender spot. "My shebs hurt more…" There was a very slight slur to his words and he grimaced at the sting. "Hey…that's sore…lay off!"

Ghost let him go and washed his hands off under the shower flow. "Get washed up and see me down at the medbay on your way back. I'll put a drop of skin glue on that for you." He stepped away, fixing both rookies with a carefully moderated expression. They couldn't meet his eyes; both staring at the floor as they finished washing. "And you two heed the good sergeant's words. We're all brothers together."

* * *

Instead of going back to the barracks after visiting Ghost, Nine-Six took a detour to visit the target range. Marksmanship always settled his mind; the need to concentrate occupied every fibre of his being. He was at peace with the rifle in his hands…it was comfort to have it in his hands. When he held a sniper rifle, it was like an extension of his body.

There was only one other man on the range so he had a free choice of spots. He took up the position beside the other brother and worked through a few simple patterns to calm himself down, then set a much harder program running. He was aware that the other clone's shooting was way off – he was missing half his shots, but he didn't let that distract him. He took a deep breath and hit the button to start.

It was hypnotic and truly joyous to have the rifle in his hands, and the program was completed quicker than he hoped; 100% of shots hit.

He set the rifle down and moved in to the next bay to offer some advice to the brother. He liked to help whenever possible, especially when it came to sharing his passion.

The man was hunched over, his shoulders shaking in silent sobs. This was enough to make Nine-Six hesitate, but he was already halfway in to the space so he moved forward and squatted down beside him, placing a hand on his shoulder. "Hey, vod'ika, are you okay?"

He realised too late that it was one of the rookie members of the squad, another one of Keen's buddies. Of all the people to bump in to when he was trying to get away from his guilt. He felt himself shrink back when the red rimmed eyes met his own and went through the same process of realisation as he just had. "Fek, I'm sorry…I'll leave you…"

He got up to move but the rookie touched his arm gently, shaking his head and moving to make space. "It's okay." He sniffed and wiped his eyes on his gauntlet, motioning towards the target program which had now finished. The screen read an accuracy level of 5%. "…couldn't see for the tears."

Nine-Six perched anxiously beside him, not knowing what to say or do. He'd never had to get to know others; he had had his squad brothers at his side his entire life. Making friends with rookies was something other brothers did…but he had to make the effort. "Look, I'm really sorry about-"

"Shh, it's done." The brother sniffed again, biting hard on his lip to get some control of his emotions. He held out a hand. "My name's Rhen, and it's not your fault – what happened – no brother should be held responsible for that tragedy. The blame lies with the enemy. It always does."

The sniper took the proffered hand and clasped it tentatively in his own. "I'm Nine-Six." He saw the questions forming; the questions he could never answer so carried on promptly. "I don't have a name, but Nine-Six is the last digits of my designation, so that's what people call me."

Rhen seemed happy enough to take that at face value, showing his youthful innocence. He would believe that a trooper didn't have a name, because many rookies still hadn't chosen one. The more senior troopers would give him more questioning looks; they knew he was older and it was rare not to have taken a name by that age.

But his name was past…history…nothing to do with the Wolfpack. So he was Nine-Six now. A new placement and a fresh start.

There was a silence for a long moment before Rhen spoke up again.

"I know I'll see him again, when I die. It won't be long to wait. But I know that when my luck runs out, I'll see him again." He looked down at his hands. "There's more than just this life of war. We have to live this, prove ourselves…" He trailed off in to silence again.

Nine-Six watched him, mulling over the implication of those words. An afterlife? He'd never thought that way. When his brothers had died, he had been devastated…he could only see it as everything he held dear falling from his hands. "You believe in an afterlife?" If it was true, then maybe he could meet them again. Eternity with his brothers sounded blissful. Their life had been far too short. Cruelly short.

Rhen shrugged a shoulder. "I believe it. Not everyone does, but it gives me comfort to think of him safe now. He can't be shot at anymore; he can't be injured, scared, stressed…he's in a better place, he truly is."

_A better place._

Tap had been so scared in those final moments. If there was an afterlife then maybe his fear had been eased by eternal comfort. It was a much nicer thought than believing he had been crushed to death; suffocated by rubble and flame. It was a sight that plagued his nightmares. He would be there, trying to scramble through the desolated building to get to his brother, but he would never succeed and he would hear Tap's screams of pain as he died a slow and painful death.

Rhen carried on, almost as if speaking to himself. "We fight proudly, valiantly…we do as we are taught. The best we can search for is to do our part, protect our brothers and die honourable. We owe nothing to the Republic…" He paused. It wasn't something that a rookie normally said aloud, but each trooper surely thought it. "…we owe them nothing, so our only focus should be on our brothers. If we die in protecting each other, then we can pass on to join those we love, safe in the knowledge that we have done our best." He smiled softly, looking up at Nine-Six. "It's the best way I can think of it, and it gets me through each day."

"So he's safe…and Tap's safe…Strike's safe…they're all safe together and I will be able to see them again after all this?" Nine-Six closed his eyes tightly, picturing his squad mates together again, laughing and joking; safe in the knowledge that they were no longer fighting a fool's war.

He just had to do his best to keep his new squad safe, then when he died it would all just seem like a bad dream. It would all be a nightmare and he'd wake up with his vode – free men in eternity. He could do that. He could look out for the squad, using his skills. He could do his duty to them as a brother, then see his true vode.

He opened his eyes and focused on the tear-streaked rookie. "Thank you, Rhen…thank you." He sat quiet for a few minutes, letting the thoughts sink in, then he took the blaster that was sitting idle by the console and prepared to start up a simple program. "C'mon and I'll show you a thing or two about hitting the target…"

* * *

**_Happy new year everyone. I'm starting it with a rotten cold, which has been keeping me quiet this past week or so. So if there are some dodgy bits in this, I do apologise - I've tried to proof read but my brain is all mush so I may have missed glaringly obvious spellings and such. I kept getting knew/new, there/their/they're etc confused today. All those things you usually do on autopilot, my mind seems to have just jettisoned. But I was determined to get productivity going again. So happy 2015 folks, let's hope it's a good one! (And that someone finds a preventative for the common cold...) ~ Atin_**


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Wolffe sat at the briefing room table, helmet in front of him and his head lowered in thought. The new sniper had rubbed him up the wrong way and he was battling an internal war of attachment. He wanted to take the confused and disorientated brother under his wing but that only led to heart ache.

He was a valuable brother to have, and he had a strong handsomeness that made the base, carnal areas of the Commander flutter. _Flutter…what a word to think._ But he could not let himself get attached to another transfer; not after what happened with Sol, and to top it all off, any interactions with the trooper seemed to show a man who could match Wolffe's scowl and gave answers which bordered on insubordinate. Ghost seemed to have squirmed his way past the fierce exterior by sheer persistence, but it still wasn't the true Nine-Six that they were seeing.

They knew that, and he was sure that Nine-Six knew that they knew it…but he wouldn't budge. Whenever he was with the squad his mental barriers seemed to go up and all they got was the scowling, taciturn sniper act.

He was so absorbed in his thoughts that he didn't realise that the General had entered until the clawed hand reached across the table to touch his own.

"Commander, forgive me but you look terrible – are you okay?" Koon kept his hand in place for a second before pulling back, taking the moment to feel the swirling emotions around his comrade and friend. He wouldn't delve in to the minds of any of his men, but he could 'taste' the surface emotions washing off in waves.

He had expected a sense of bitter anger – because that tended to be the emotion that surfaced when the Commander looked this troubled – but instead, he felt a coppery tasting emptiness. It wasn't a feeling, it was a conscious absence, as if the source of stress had been tucked away out of view.

Wolffe pulled himself up straight and, upon realising that the General had a companion, he leapt to his feet and stood at a hasty attention. He'd let himself get sloppy. If anything was worse than being seen moping, then it was sloppiness. "General Plo…Commander Tano…forgive me, I was distracted." He could still feel his general waiting for an answer. "It's been a busy week, sir, I'm fine. A square meal and a decent night's sleep and I'll be on top form."

Koon didn't seem convinced but Ahsoka bounced on her heels at his side, looking ready for anything despite the late hour. "We're needed planetside at 06:00 hours, emergency call in. If you want a good night's sleep you should be in your rack now!"

She was smiling…she was always smiling and Wolffe couldn't stand it. _What did she have to smile about? What did any of them have to smile about?_ They were about to dance cheek to cheek with death, yet again, so what could she possibly by finding so funny.

Apparently the clones under her command loved her and her character was endearing to them. She had complete respect from them all. But she was a mere child in his mind. She may be older than Wolffe in true years, and they both held the same rank – but he had worked hard for his role. He had spent his entire, short life learning how to lead men, and he carried every loss in his heart. She had none of his experience – none of it – yet he was still expected to call her sir and take her advice and opinions. He couldn't trust a youngling, not matter what her men might think of her. He resented her laughing and joking when there was always a problem to deal with. That was probably mutinous thoughts, but right now he didn't care.

He trusted General Plo because he had proven his skills and gained their trust as a good leader. He cared for his men, but he showed it not only in his kindness, but in his choice of tactics and the way he handled the men. He was always there, if not on the front lines with them – because that was Wolffe's control domain – he would be up with the flight squadrons providing them with support and assistance. He was a true General and a figure of respect.

He looked up again. She was still bouncing…still grinning…

Koon placed a hand on the padawan's shoulder, stilling her excited movements with his own endless patience and calm. "I think it would be wise to get a few hours sleep, my little 'soka." His gently presence encouraged her towards the door. "I dismissed your captain and his men to one of the empty barracks so there's no need for you to worry yourself about them."

Wolffe looked up suddenly, completely unaware of there being members of the 501st on board. They had pulled Commander Faie and his small group of men out during the extraction, and he had personally seen the commander to a cabin and ensured he had everything he needed, but he had missed the appearance of the 501st. How could he miss something like that? He had been so absorbed with what was going on. Faie was a difficult brother to deal with, but he didn't mind him all that much. He had a strictly regimented mindset, and a similar short temper to Wolffe himself, so it wasn't a hardship to settle him in. He just treated him like he would like to be treated by others.

And then there had been the endless write ups, and his fears about the new sniper bubbling to the surface whenever he let his mind wander.

Koon shut the door with a gentle click and took the seat opposite again. "Sergeant Akki took control of the arrival, Wolffe." He knew what was troubling the clone without any need to see inside his mind. "You were busy with Commander Faie so he took on the duty."

Wolffe sighed, relieved to hear that the whole thing hadn't just been overlooked because of his absence. Of course it wouldn't be; he could trust his brothers to take the initiative when required. "He'll make a good Captain. He's ready for promotion." He stared at his own hands; at every scar and burn etched in to the tan skin. "When we get back I'll see to it."

Koon nodded, watching the man before him with his head slightly tipped to the side. He was sampling the emotions again, feeling the confusion of so many jobs to do, and again, that coppery fear bubbling up below. "What about Sinker?" He tried to keep the topic going while he made sense of what he was feeling. "He's been with you a long time?"

Wolffe let a small smile twitch the corner of his lip. "He isn't interested in promotion. He likes his squad. He enjoys the continuity." He would make an excellent captain, but he always listened to what his brothers wanted. Not everyone desired promotion and increased responsibility. He needed men at their best, and Sinker was at his best leading the prime Wolfpack squad. That's where he was confident. And it meant he was there to keep an eye on the new guy.

Again he felt his stomach coil with flurries of adrenaline; fear for the issues, the need to protect a brother, and swirling under it all, a warm honey tasting desire.

Koon closed his eyes, savouring each layer, passing through gently as to leave no trace of disruption in the mind. It was like seeing a painting develop when taken like this. He could 'read the book' but that was intrusive and inappropriate. Each layer built on top of the last, creating an impression of the Commander's thoughts and fears.

He opened them, seeing the man before him both as the dominant commander that he always portrayed, but also as the twenty two year old man with an eleven year old's experiences. So prepared for battle, but unprepared for the mental battles outside of combat. It broke his heart to see that side of the men, but he understood the importance. A general who didn't understand the men they led would not do them justice. It was important to allow yourself to be hurt by the injustice so that you understood the mind within the shell. There was more to leading a clone army than many would think. He felt sorry for the likes of Commander Faie, who took his confidence in strict regime and often found that those non-clones he worked with didn't understand why. They didn't understand what they were dealing with, and that wasn't Faie's fault, or Wolffe's fault, or any clone's fault.

"Wolffe, you need to take some rest, my boy. Forget about what troubles you for now. Worrying won't change the outcome and you will only wear yourself down." He reached over to stroke the clone's hand. "Go to bed…rest…focus on the next day only. And when we get home from this next assault you can give your troubles more thought." He felt the swell of colour and nerves, so he tightened fingers to grip the hand. "Don't punish yourself for something you couldn't prevent."

He gave the most gentle of mental nudges; just enough to calm. You had to respect what you could do and not take liberties. Just enough to help him relax and sleep, but not enough to be a violation.

"Go on, son. You're tired. Let me walk you to your cabin."

Never take away, and only leave behind a positive. A ghost of confidence; enough to carry him in to the next day in safety.

A gift between friends.

* * *

_**I'm not sure how this Wolffe/Plo relationship comes across. Is it too 'fatherly' on Plo's side? Would he treat Wolffe like that - we know he's a good Jedi to his troops but would he go as far to treat Wolffe almost like a child - like a son - and give him that gently bit of force influenced calm and confidence? I don't know. It came pretty naturally when written, but I'm still not sure. **_

_**And Commander Faie because he's another one who deserves a little love. Any clone who's landed with Quinlan Vos deserves extra love! ~ Atin**_


	5. Chapter 5

_AN: Originally chapter 5 and 6 were going to be one long one together, but I have decided to split it up because there is a natural divide with perspective and it keeps the chapter length more uniform. So chapter 6 will pick up from the same event._

* * *

Chapter 5

The gunships went in hard and fast to dodge the fire from ground level.

It was one of the most ominous feelings, especially when they were crammed in cheek by jowl. Captain Rex and his small squad had packed in to this LAAT with the Wolfpack and it was extremely close quarters. He glanced let his gaze move across the occupants.

She was grinning again despite looking tiny and frail against the mass of troopers and armour. She was chatting with her squad; probably an attempt to keep them from worrying, but as far as Wolffe was concerned, she shouldn't be distracting them with nonsense in those final moments.

His own squad were silent, even over the squad comms. These types of approach always put the wind up a trooper. They were listening to the pilot and his co-pilot who were the only one who could see what was going – aside from the gunners who were too occupied to be making any comments. And the conversation between the pilots was not promising. The co-pilot sounded at the end of his tether already; there was that characteristic edge to his voice which came with unridable adrenaline flow. He was terrified and he was running on instinctive training. That was okay – for now – the pilot, Atmo, was a highly experienced brother and was more than capable of flying with a rookie as his co-pilot. He was good at training the new pilots. It was one thing to graduate as a pilot, but the experience of flying under true fire was something that always took a little getting used to. Atmo made sure they survived this sharp learning curve.

Wolffe opened a private link to the pilots. "Easy, Folly. Don't panic, just focus on your own job. Let the gunners do theirs." He listened to the panting breaths and Atmo's calm and confident addition to those words of comfort. Folly was too occupied to answer but he seemed to be listening to all the advice given to him. It could be a lot to take in for any young trooper. It was a steep learning curve flying at upwards of 500Km/h with the lives of thirty brothers in your hands.

He switched back to his squad link. Someone was humming softly; a disjointed tune that was being half carried by a few other members when they got to bits they recognised. It was all displacement activity. They were focusing on the here and now.

The gunship rocked violently and then banked heavily to the right, knocking everyone off balance.

Wolffe gripped the grab-rail tighter, waiting millisecond upon millisecond for the ship to right itself again, the muscles in his arm aching as he was pushed from behind by others trying to keep their balance at this strange angle. Rex had grabbed his diminutive commander by the scruff of her robes and what seemed stranger was that she was tolerating it, gripping his gauntlet in one hand and her lightsaber in the other. Several heartbeats later and the gunship still hadn't righted itself.

"Atmo?" Wolffe opened his private link to the pilots again. "Atmo, sitrep. Are we hit?"

There was a moments silence and then Folly's voice over the comm. "He's down, sir. No response." He had a sudden calm in his voice that had been absent before. He was beyond fear and in to life or death survival instincts.

"What damage to the ship, Folly?" Wolffe kept his voice calm and level but he felt fear prickle on the back of his neck. Knowing you were in a crippled gunship was one of the worst scenarios a trooper could face because there was nothing they could do but trust the pilot to do his best. And their experienced pilot was out of action. He wasn't going to tell the squad about that though. No sense in adding extra worry to the mess. "Folly!"

"Right wing has been damaged sir, and the engines are compromised." Folly's voice was still calm and void of any emotion. "Losing altitude rapidly. I can't get her to lift again." He was silent for a fraction of a second then another shot screamed over the top of the gunship, just missing them and no more. "It's a controlled rapid descent, sir. She's gonna go down hard…"

"Okay." Wolffe swallowed hard. He had heard many different euphemisms but ultimately they all meant to the same thing…crash. He switched to open comm, realising that all eyes were upon him. They knew he was talking to the pilots. "We're losing altitude and we're going to go down hard." Folly's voice broke in over the private comm. He was starting to sound scared again. "Five hundred metres, sir, brace yourself."

_Okay…okay…_

"Just try to keep us upright if you can, Folly." He felt the engines scream and the tiny lift as the co-pilot tried to convince the gunship up from its slouch. It didn't last more than a second and another shot hit the nose and tipped her further from upright. He could see the ground rushing up to meet them through the co-pilots POV icon. _Fek_. "Brace!"

* * *

The sound was deafening as the gunship touched down. By some miracle Folly had managed to prevent it tipping any further but it still slid along on its damaged wing. The blood red lighting had disappeared on impact and plunged the space in to darkness. Some had lost their grip on impact but the blast doors had held relatively well with so nobody was thrown from the body of the vessel.

They were hitting some sort of plant life, but it wasn't as unforgiving as trees; it was bending the metal and bringing them to a halt, but if they'd hit trees or rocks it would have ripped the vessel apart in moments and killed them all.

When the movement came to a halt there was a silence so profound that nobody seemed to even breathe.

Gradually they began to move, checking themselves and each other. One of the heavy gunners had peered out through the vents in the blast doors, then once he was sure it was clear, had heaved his Z6 against the bent steel like a battering ram. It was efficient against the weakened door and made a large enough gap for them to get out.

Ahsoka was first out after him, igniting her lightsaber the moment she was free. Wolffe moved to step through the gap and clattered shoulders with the 501st captain who had gone to follow the little Togrutan with protective haste. Wolffe paused, giving him the three beat glower that was efficient even with the helmet still on. It worked, but barely. Rex took a tiny step back to give the Commander the right of way.

Wolffe stepped through, moving cautiously around the wrecked gunship. They were behind enemy lines and surrounded by high, colourful fern-like plants. It was good cover for the troopers but it wasn't enough to hide the twisted wreck of dura-steel.

He motioned silently for the men to spread and protect the wounded. Attack could come from any direction. Kohl was checking injuries and treating the walking wounded while Ghost climbed up the edge of the LAAT to see if the cockpit had survived the impact.

Crash landings were so often fatal for the pilots because they were so exposed. Both gunners had been killed on impact; two more shinies who had still been finding their feet with the pack. It was cruel.

Ghost pulled himself up on to the crumpled nose and scrambled first towards the pilot's bubble. The evidence suggested that the bubble had been shattered before impact with the ground, judging by the damage to the steel around it. That didn't bode well for Atmo's chances.

He leant in awkwardly, struggling to reach in to the confined space to check for a pulse. Atmo's helmet was cracked down the left hand side of the visor and it seemed impossible that he could still be alive. He'd been injured before they'd even reached the ground.

He felt someone pull themselves up beside him and assumed it was another medic. He didn't have time to retract his body to check so he just barked instruction, hoping they weren't senior. "Check the co-pilot. I'll stay with Atmo."

He managed to get his fingers in under the rim of the damaged helmet and against his brother's skin. There wasn't space to get his hand scanner in, but resorting to good old fashioned technology, he was able to find a thread pulse. That was good enough; he had been expecting to find nothing. At least if there was a pulse there was still something to fight for.

He squirmed out of the cockpit again, feeling his armour catch on the sharp edges of the fractured transparisteel. It was going to be pretty much impossible to get them out this way. If it was possible to scan and check them for spinal injuries, then it would be doable, but they couldn't do that hanging through the top of the damaged canopy. He glanced at the armoured shebs poking out of the co-pilot bubble. It had blue 501st markings so he had no idea who he was working with, but at least it was another pair of hands.

The trooper began to work his way out and Ghost grabbed him by the plates to help him out. "Atmo, the pilot, is still with us. What's the co-pilot's condition?"

The 501st medic dusted himself down and tugged his helmet off. He had intricate patterns shaved in to his hair and a tattoo on the side of his head. He looked younger than Ghost, but not by much, and he had that same concerned expression that was synonymous with medics in action. "Conscious and in pain, but his vitals are all stable." He cracked a small smile. "Very, very lucky."

Ghost nodded absently, knowing all too well just how lucky his brothers had been, especially considering how poor Folly must have had to bring it down alone, judging by the injuries on Atmo. "We still need to get them out." He sat on the twisted wreckage and peered among the armoured bodies, looking for the Wolffe. He spotted him having a heated argument with the new sniper. "Commander?" He swung his leg over to sit astride the ridge of the vessel and waved a hand to get his attention. He waited until he had stalked over to stand below him before continueing. "Commander, we need to get the pilots out. We don't want to pull them out from up here unless we really have to. We can't get a scanner in properly to check for spinal injuries. Is there anyone uninjured who has the technical mind to slice through the controls and lower their cockpit."

Wolffe paced back and forwards as he thought; never seeming to be able to stay still. "I don't know if it's possible without power…you'd think there'd been something though…" He growled quietly under his breath.

They were behind enemy lines with two potentially badly wounded brothers and many with minor injuries and broken bones from the hard landing. There was no going forward, and there was no retreat until someone was able to come and rescue them. They would have to sit it out as best they could.

He turned and looked around his squad, searching for those who were uninjured and found two of his more technically minded still standing. He glanced back up to the medics. "I'll ask Grav and Trip to have a look at it from the inside. We'll make getting them out the priority; there doesn't seem to be any time significant injuries out here."

Ghost nodded, tapping his helmet in a casual salute. "Perfect, thank you, sir. We'll monitor them from up here for now." He blinked to activate a private link with the Commander. "Did Folly land us, sir?"

"He did, Ghost. Atmo was hit when the gunship was crippled." Wolffe frowned within the confines of his helmet, suddenly reminded of the young co-pilot. "He did really well. Look after him for me."

"I will do, sir. He's conscious and stable." Ghost watched him move away then squirmed past the tattooed medic to get to the co-pilot cockpit again. He lay down on his belly and reached an arm in touch Folly's shoulder gently. He didn't have a link to the frequency that the pilots used; only the commander could patch in with them, but the medic had removed his helmet so Ghost pulled his own off and hung himself through the open canopy. "Hi, Folly, it's only me. We've going to get you out, vod'ika, it's all going to be fine."

Folly blinked sleepily, muzzy with the cocktail of pain relief that had been injected in to his system in quick succession. It was a relief. Before he had felt every agony but now he was comfortably numb. He recognised Ghost easily despite his slightly blurry vision and pounding head; the blond hair was always something of a giveaway. "Atmo?" He could only manage one word but it got his point across.

Ghost shifted further and reached to take the co-pilot's hand in his own. It was always hard when you had to sit back and wait before you could give treatment, but they could still provide comfort and reassurance. "Don't you worry yourself about Atmo; that's my job. He's stable and unconscious, but that's probably a good thing." He let his mind run through the mental checklist of what he needed to do to get them both comfortable – it was a medic's displacement technique; to always be thinking of the step ahead even if you couldn't implement it yet. "You did really well, vod'ika. He'll be so proud of you."

* * *

_**I had originally intended to write it such that Folly was killed on impact, but I could bring myself to do that. It would be too traumatic to introduce this nervous you shiny and then off him after his heroic moment. That was too much for me to have on my conscience! ~ Atin **_


	6. Chapter 6

_AN: So much for being a two parter...make that three parter...so this is part two of three on this location._

* * *

Chapter 6

The low, dense plant life was perfect cover to move away from the group. Nine-Six skulked through the ferns with his head ducked well down, making for a high point that would give him a perfect view over the crash site and the surrounding area. The terrain was relatively flat but densely packed with foliage; you really needed the height advantage to see what was coming towards the camp.

Nobody had really given him permission – as such – to move out to here, but he had taken the opportunity while Wolffe was occupied with the medics. Sinker was busy, stepping up to organise the remaining troopers while Captain Rex had already ordered his own squad to defend the injured from the rear. They expected the risk of attack from the battle side, but you never knew what might take advantage of that exposed side. It was quick thinking on the part of the captain and an admirable quality. The little youngling Jedi had followed Wolffe around as they tried to free the pilots but she seemed to have got the hint eventually and moved away to see if she could help with the injured.

Too many officers all fighting for control…definitely time to be out of it. Sinker had snapped at some of the shinies to take the initiative and do what needed done, because there were no regs for this exact scenario, so Nine-Six had taken that as permission to use his own initiative as well. He was better placed as a sniper overlooking the site. He could defend from all angles and spot anything coming before they could. The undergrowth severely restricted his view, but it was still far better than hanging around down there just waiting for trouble to come and get them.

This was using his initiative and his skills to make the best of a bad situation.

They seemed to have got the pilots out now – or at least, they had succeeded in lowering the cockpit because both medics climbed down and jogged towards the interior of the LAAT.

He settled himself down in the scrub, thanking his grey camo pattern for providing such good cover. He could see the normal troopers standing out like beacons in their white plastoid, but from up here he could do his best to look out for them.

The more time he spent watching the surroundings, the more he realised that this would be a beautiful planet when not in the midst of a war. The sky had a permanent purple hue and the light was subdued, but the plant life was truly phenomenal. He could see tall trees in the far distance, but most of the ground was covered in these vibrant ferns and shrubs which stood almost two metres high and glowed in all sorts of wonderful colours.

He had no idea what planet they were on but if he ever had freedom, he would love to explore environments like this. Not that he'd ever have freedom. He was a trooper, bred to serve and die for the Republic. So he might as well enjoy what he could see of the galaxy as he went.

* * *

Wolffe prowled – there was no better word for it. He had ensured that the two pilots were safely extracted from the cockpit then left the medics to do their work. It was quiet…eerily quiet, and the forest of ferns severely limited his view. Many brothers were injured but fortunately not too severely. There were more broken limbs than the medics could treat at the moment due to the need for both Ghost and Kix in the LAAT with the pilots. That only left Kohl doing his rounds of the remaining men.

He had used the pooled supplies and – with a little assistance from an experienced brother – gone around all those with more severe breaks and done what he could to set the damage. They'd had one nasty open leg fracture which had required a strong dose of painkillers but the trooper had been unable to move so he was safely harboured inside the LAAT. Most breaks were arms, wrists and a few collarbones; mostly simple to knit together and when he had run out supplies he had used layers of bandages or quick setting casts to support those which were clean and neatly aligned. His scanner was a real time saver in these scenarios and he instructed anyone injured to take one of their own medkit painkillers so that he could keep his own supply of more potent drugs for those brothers in severe pain. Nobody minded this attitude. The joy of fighting shoulder to shoulder with your vode was that everyone looked out for each other. Nobody minded being asked to grin and bear it so that a brother more in need could benefit. It was the natural reaction for them. It made perfect sense.

Wolffe had called in the evac request but it was going to be a waiting game because the space battle was still very much active and it was too risky to send another LAAT in until a path was secured by the fighter squadron. He trusted his brothers to get to them as soon as they could. Without Atmo, it was down to another of the experienced pilots Tighna and his co-pilot partner Sidh to get them out. They just had to sit tight and keep themselves safe until help arrived.

He moved passed a group of brothers who were helping a more injured brother treat a nasty cut. They were coping fine without a medic at their side so he moved slowly along the perimeter to survey his remaining troops.

He reacted on pure ingrained training when he heard the sniper bellow in at him down the comm.

"Get your fekkin' head down, Wolffe!"

His body reacted while his brain responded with an instant fury. He hit the deck and heard the round fly over his head, straight in to the undergrowth behind him. That brother had no idea what was appropriate behaviour. He had bypassed all correct respect for a superior.

He raised himself back to his feet, growling away the offer of a hand from Captain Rex. He could see the body in the undergrowth and a quick check with his own database clarified that this was the native species of the planet; presumed to be non-confrontational and uninvolved in the current conflict. Yet another planet where the native population where suffering due to someone else's war.

He turned in the direction of the shot, scanning the far slope for the sniper but he couldn't see any hint of his location. _Okay, so he was good at hiding himself...there was more to war than hiding. _"Natives are assumed non-hostile, Nine-Six. You are expected to use non-lethal force when dealing with them." He resisted the desire to tear him apart for the inappropriate nature of his behaviour, but that could wait for now. He allowed himself a small warning, in the hope that he took the hint. "And I expect you to maintain your sense of decorum even in an emergency, private."

Nine-Six rolled his eyes, ignoring the jibe and focusing his attention on his own situation. He didn't care what the commander had to say about the natives. He'd seen that one sneaking up on the camp and had no intention of letting him get any closer regardless of his position on the current battle. In a vulnerable situation like this it was a case of 'shoot first and ask questions later'.

And now he had his own problem. He had been monitoring the position of one of these beings and now they were getting closer. Regardless of what the commander might have to say, he was going to deal with this his own way. One wrong move from this creature and he would shoot.

He watched, lowering his rifle in favour of the hand blaster. It was too close to need the specialised rifle.

It felt like a stand-off. A silent battle as he waited; tense with his finger on the trigger. One more step forward and he would shoot.

He let out a sharp gasp as a pain shot through his body, radiating from his right shoulder. His arm was instantly numb and he dropped the blaster.

It took him a mere breath to grab the other left handed and fire at the retreating figure. He got it between the shoulders and it went down without moving. Not bad for a rushed shot.

There had to be a second because that one had no weapon. He turned, shaking the numbness away from his dominant arm and lifting the specialised rifle. He could see everything through the infrared scope and it was easy to pick up the other fleeing native. Another soft breath, a calm shot, and it fell too.

He watched until he was sure his shot was true, then scanned the full 360 degrees for any approaching dangers. It was all clear so he lowered the rifle and tried to reach around and feel his own shoulder.

It didn't feel like he'd been shot. After the impact, and the sudden pain, it had eased away, and there was none of the lingering pain of a shot or burn. His fingers brushed over the area unprotected by plastoid around the joint of his shoulder and under his arm. He felt a tiny metallic bump and tried to get a grip on it to tug it free but as he did so, another shock like electricity jolted through his body and he let go, cursing quietly.

So it wasn't going to be tugged out quite so easily…still, it wasn't giving him any pain so it could wait for now. It didn't feel like a weapon and he didn't feel like he'd been hurt at all. It was all rather strange really. What a useless way of going about anything.

He'd get a medic or med-droid to pluck it out when they were evacced, but it would just have to stay in place for now. He had more important things to concern himself with. There could still be hours until they were extracted and there could be more unwanted visitors, so he settled himself back down in the scrape below the ferns and watched the dark landscape through the scope of his rifle, ready for anything now that he knew what to look for. Nobody was going to get past his watch.

* * *

_**Today's take on clone names are from Scottish locations. Tighna is named after Tighnabruaich, a pretty little village with a prettier name. Sidh is from the Gaelic form of Schiehallion (Sidh Chailleann) – a munro (a mountain over 3000ft) which I have been dragged up at least yearly as a child…blisters galore!**_

_**Tighna is pronounced roughly 'Tih-nah' and Sidh is 'sheeh'. ~ Atin**_


	7. Chapter 7

_AN: This is getting to be a joke...never again am I claiming how many sections chapters a plot arc will take. This is part 3 of 4 of this little location arc - so much for 2 parts. I'm just going to keep quiet in the future! _

* * *

Chapter 7

Wolffe leapt in shock as the 501st captain approached and placed a hand on his shoulder. He'd been attempting to recall his aberrant sniper but couldn't get any reply. _This is why he didn't like people disappearing on their own. _Now he had no idea whether he was being ignored, or whether the sniper was injured or even unconscious, or maybe the comm was damaged at his end. _How could he tell? _All he knew was that he was getting no reply, but a quick check with Kohl confirmed that the sniper had not blacked out on the medic's list…he wasn't dead.

Rex removed his hand quickly, not expecting to shock the mean tempered commander quite so easily. "What can we do, sir? What's the situation now?" He had to keep reminding himself that this was not Cody, and Wolffe was a very different man to work with. Cody shared information freely while Wolffe seemed to take it upon himself to be the sole bearer of responsibility.

Wolffe growled quietly to himself and turned to face the captain. "A LAAT is about to try to make its way through and we need to get ready for possible extraction. My sniper has taken it upon himself to disappear and I can't get in contact with him." He folded his hands behind his back, resisting the desire to pace. He was wearing a track in the undergrowth already.

Rex gave this a moment's thought then turned glance at his own squad. "Permission to send two of my men to find him? I have two freshly qualified ARC troopers looking for a job." He motioned towards the brothers who were standing among the men in blue marked armour. "They'll have a better chance of finding him than a normal trooper. Do we know if he's injured?" His tone conveyed concern despite it not being one of his own squad.

"Status unknown; all the medics can say is that he is alive." Wolffe pulled his helmet off and scrubbed a hand through his hair. "He's not made contact to say he's hurt in any way, but he's a new trooper to the squad and I don't know how he operates yet. He performed poorly when we extracted Commander Faie, but that was a different scenario."

Rex seemed to be giving him a look which radiated the thought _'cruel bastard'_, but he made no further comment. "I'll send my men out now, Commander. They will keep in touch." He touched his fingers to his helmet in salute and turned towards his squad again.

Ahsoka moved in by his side as soon as he was clear of Wolffe. "What's wrong, Rex?" She may not have been listening in, but she could feel the emotions and taste the anger in her captain. She knew when something was bothering him. It was no longer a conscious thought – more an instinctive feeling that she found with spending every day by his side. They worked well together and she felt that she knew him pretty well, and something was bothering him. She took a second to let her gaze scan over their troops, checking that nothing was out of the ordinary. The men all seemed to be okay; those with injuries were being watched over but they'd escaped with minimal damage.

Rex sighed, removing his helmet to scratch his scalp vigorously. The suits may keep the temperature comfortable, but they didn't stop the nerves from making you sweat. He motioned to Fives and Echo, beckoning them over to join them_. If anyone could find a sniper, the best choice would be two ARC troopers – they would think in the same sort of way as a special ops trained man. _

Echo was first to salute, always a microsecond ahead of Fives when it came to etiquette. "Yes, sir?"

Rex motioned towards the slope, watching Ahsoka move slowly to stand between the group and the undergrowth. She seemed to have an early warning system so he let her do her thing and focused on his pair of ARC troopers who were now looking suitable alert; buoyed up by Ahsoka's nervous tension. "Commander Wolffe's sniper isn't answering his comms. He's alive but they can't get a response. Do you think you can find him? We need to be ready to evac if the gunship gets through and we don't want to leave a brother behind." He looked from Wolffe then back to Ahsoka. Both seemed to be giving the forest of ferns more consideration than he would have liked. It had been quiet after the sniper shot that one native, but that didn't mean they were safe. It was now getting darker; the purple hue was deepening and the shadows lengthening. They were potentially at risk from the local wildlife. A quick consultation of his HUDs database had shown that there were large carnivorous creatures that roamed at night. The base camps had been heavily protected against such attacks but they were out in the open here. He turned his attention back to his brothers. "He's wearing grey camo armour…I'm sure you saw him; he stood out from the rest of them. He could be hard to spot in the dark so you may want to use an infrared filter. If he's injured, call for a medic, but what we know doesn't suggest that he is hurt." He glowered towards the Wolfpack commander. "I know he has a lot on his plate, but he doesn't seem very concerned for this vod's safety. Try to find him and get him down here again."

* * *

Fives moved through the undergrowth, scanning left to right for any heat signatures that could suggest the location for the sniper's nest. He didn't like searching in the dark like this, it always made him feel vulnerable because his attention was on finding something rather than on protection. Twice he had felt sure there was something prowling just outside the extents of his vision, but that could just be his mind playing tricks on him.

Echo was moving parallel along the slope fifteen metres to his right and had been characteristically silent throughout the walk. He was focusing and when he focused, he didn't have time for chat.

Another noise and flash of movement made Fives glance quickly to his left and it was then he saw the patch of warm among the ambient leaves and plant life. A large patch, big enough to be a person. He moved off the path and approached cautiously, switching to his regular night vision and keeping an eye out for any predators. "Echo, I think I've got him." He realised he was whispering despite the internal comm between them and almost laughed aloud with nerves. "Watch yourself though cause there's definitely something skulking around in the shadows." _And if it raises its head it'll get one of my rounds right between whatever it uses for eyes…._

He squatted down beside the body and shook the sniper gently, trying to rouse him. That didn't seem to have any effect whatsoever so he flipped his helmet lamp on to help shine some light on the problem. It also helped Echo located him easier and he looked up in relief; always glad to have his calm, methodical brother by his side.

Echo knelt down beside them, reaching past to slip off the sniper's helmet and check his pulse. He sat back and looked up at his brother. "He's respiration rate and pulse are both fine, but they're a little sluggish. Have you checked for injuries?"

Fives shook his head and together they started the methodical process of checking the dark armour for damage. There didn't seem to be any blood and there was no damage to the armour plates at all. What's more, there was no signs of disruption either. It looked like he'd just fallen asleep where he lay.

Echo put his fingers up to feel the pulse again. It was still steady and slightly slow. "It could maybe be an allergic reaction to something, what do you think? There's no wounds and no sign of shots." He reached for his own medkit and selected a silvery hypospray of stim. "Shall we try giving him a bit of a buzz?" He didn't like giving meds without knowledge of what they were dealing with but it seemed like the sniper was merely slumbering a very deep sleep.

Fives nodded. He couldn't think of any other option. They could treat minor injuries but there was nothing to treat. _How could they deal with something they couldn't see? _If the stim didn't work they'd have to carry him back, but it was worth a shot. "Sure, go for it."

Echo twirled the hypo between his fingers to mix the ingredients then leant over to press it in to the exposed flesh. It dispersed with a soft hiss and they sat back to watch.

It was quite a sight to see. The sniper woke relatively quickly, looking rather confused to find himself staring up in to two sets of helmet lamps. He raised a hand to shield his eyes and squinted, trying to make out the forms. He didn't recognise either of them, but it was obvious they were 501st and not members of the 104th. He pushed himself upright, reaching for his helmet and rifle. "What happened?"

Echo placed a hand on his shoulder to steady him until the stim took full affect. "You tell us? We were sent to find you when you want incommunicado on everyone and we found you spark out on the ground." He shone his lamp down towards the ground to prevent it dazzling him. "Are you okay?"

Fives stood gracefully and offered a hand. "If you're fit to move, we need to get back to the LAAT. They're hopeful for extraction soon." He offered to take the heavy rifle but was met by stiff opposition to that idea and raised his hands in surrender. "Easy…just trying to help, brother."

Echo took a steadier approach, as was his nature. He stood patiently until their brother got his kit gathered up and the rifle slung over his shoulder on its sling, then he switched off his lamps so they could return to the night vision filter. "My name's Echo and this is my brother, Fives. We're 501st under Captain Rex."

Fives snorted, jamming his helmet back on his head again and shoving Echo playfully but still hard enough to make him stumble on the uneven track. "I think that's probably the first thing he noticed, vod'ika, the colouring isn't subtle!"

Echo caught himself with a little assistance from the sniper. "Steady, Fives, I've made it this far unscathed. I don't want a broken ankle because you don't know your own strength!" He nodded his thanks for the steadying hand.

Nine-Six watched them, enjoying seeing the banter and play between them. They were obviously close and it showed in every interaction; in the way that Fives body language changed at Echo's words of caution. It was clear that the last thing Fives would ever want was for Echo to be injured on his account…no matter how trivial or accidental it may be. It was a joy to watch them. "CT-6696; Nine-Six for short." He watched their reactions cautiously.

Echo looked as if he were going to accept this on face value but Fives was more nosey than his steady brother. "Aren't you a bit too experienced to still be on numbers?"

Echo gave him a look which was clearly a warning, but Nine-Six shook his head and continued to trudge along by their side. _He'd never see these brothers again. He could allow a little explanation. _"It's okay, Echo. I won't say 'I don't mind', because I do. I did have a name before I was transferred to the 104th, but that name died with my brother by choice. I'm just Nine-Six now. I don't want reminded of those I was forced to leave behind." He sighed, picking up the pace a little. "But nobody knows that, so please keep that to yourself. I don't want to make more friends." _I don't need people feeling sorry for me._ "I just want to get on with it and do my duty."

Both brothers were silent for a few moments, then Fives clapped him on the back. "We won't breathe a word, brother. Your secret is safe with us."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Ghost sat crossed legged on the gunship floor. He had one of the heavy gunners resting against the wall while he took blood from him. It wasn't the most hygienic of scenarios for blood donation, but Atmo was losing blood at a steady rate and he had exhausted the supply of fluids.

The 501st medic, a bother named Kix, was assisting with the transfusion. He had the first lot already running in to the pilot while Ghost took the second from Storm. They were keeping on top of the blood loss so far, and they had plenty people who could give up a little blood, but it was difficult working by the light from the helmets now that dark had descended.

Folly was on his other side, unconscious and wrapped in a plastfoil survival blanket. He had nasty crush injuries and needed to be moved in to bacta. There was little they could do but try to keep him comfortable. The pain relief they carried wasn't strong enough to do much more than take the edge off it and he was at the limits of what they could dose him up with.

Kohl had moved in to help and he was kneeling by the young pilot's side, holding his hand in an attempt to provide some comfort. He was sure that with each wave of pain he was going to have his fingers broken. He glanced out the crumped blast door towards the Jedi who had taken to walking the perimeter with her lightsaber in her hand. "Can't Jedi heal? She could stop the bleeding or ease Folly's pain, surely…"

Kix didn't look up from his task but he did step in to defend his commander. "Not all Jedi can heal. It's a special skill that they must develop. Ahsoka's only a padawan, but she always does her best for the men." He focused little Togrutan as she passed in to view again. "If she could help, she would be doing so."

The all glanced up as the space was filled by Commander Wolffe. He had his blasters drawn ready to fight. "We need to move the injured in to the gunship. Is there room?"

Ghost nodded, gathering his equipment closer around himself. "Plenty, go for it, sir." He removed the cannula from Storm's arm and handed the transfusion over to Kix. He applied a quick spray of bacta and a small patch over the wound. If his supplies weren't so limited, he would have applied a wrap of bandage because it wasn't the normal sedate donor experience. They had extracted blood from storm at a rapid rate; not enough to do him harm, but still an unpleasant experience.

Typically, as soon as the patch was in place, the heavy gunner was attempting to get to his feet. He only made it a few steps before his legs gave out from under him. Ghost and Wolffe took him by the arms and helped him over to sit back where he had been.

Ghost rummaged through his medkit but came up empty handed. "Does anyone have a glucose sachet left?" He took the one handed to him by Kohl and tore off the corner. He offered it carefully to the unsteady gunner. "Here, drink this, but you're not fit for hefting that gun around. Sit quiet with us." He helped guide the trembling hands, ensuring none of the liquid was spilled. The instant sugar would help combat the shock of the blood loss. "That's it, well done. Now just rest easy for a bit."

Wolffe returned to the outskirts of the small camp, joining Sinker and Rex who were both staring in to the dark undergrowth. "Sitrep, Captain." He knew he was being more abrupt than Captain Rex deserved but he knew they were being stalked and it was a deeply unsettling feeling to be waiting for something to happen.

Rex moved to stand a little further back from the ferns…just in case. "My ARCs have found your sniper and they're nearly back. I've told them to come in with headlamps on so we know it's them rustling in the undergrowth and not something else. I don't want anyone to get trigger happy…" He let that trail off, letting the commander know that his terseness had been noted. It wasn't rude, but it was blatant and he knew that Wolffe understood because a ripple of tension seemed to spread across him. "Status on the gunship, sir?"

Wolffe let his frustration fester for a few moments before replying. "On plan. ETA twenty minutes, give or take. Depends on what resistance they experience lower down. They're flying with a fighter escort so they should get through. One LAAT with a six-pilot squadron protecting it…should be easy flying once they get down this far." He paused as a light became visible through the gloom and shadows. "Our men returning?"

Rex tilted his head, listening to the crashing of running feet, watching the lights swaying back and forward. "And coming in fast, it seems."

The waited, almost holding their breath until the three troopers burst through the ferns and in to the camp, coming to abrupt and stumbling halts just past the command team. They were all breathing heavily and looking shaken.

Wolffe strode over and grabbed his sniper by the bicep, hauling him upright. "What were you doing?! What made you think you could just walk away?" His voice was a low growl, only barely audible but still enough to make his anger extremely clear. "You risked the lives of others to come and save your shebs. Why didn't you reply, like any sensible person?" He shook him hard, determined to get his point across.

Nine-Six growled and wrenched himself free, taking a step away and colliding with one of his brothers. "If I hadn't taken that incentive, that 'neutral' native could well have had a shot in your back, sir." He didn't have time for this. He pushed past to return to the edge of the camp, squatting down and shouldering the heavy sniper rifle. "We need to get out asap."

Fives nodded emphatically, preparing to take a protective position as well. "We were followed all the way back and it was getting closer. We never got a glimpse but I don't think I want to either way." He raised his own deece, feeling it rather inadequate compared to the fire power that Nine-Six was packing. "It's a master predator and it has it…they...have this camp in their sights."

Rex glanced over his shoulder to check the progress of moving the injured to the safe protection of the LAAT. "Get everyone injured inside and form up a defensive ring, now!" He froze, forgetting in the heat of the moment that he was not the one making decisions. "Sir?"

Wolffe gave a twitch of his shoulders that seemed to suggest he didn't mind the mistake. "Do as he says, men." It was a good snap decisions. No wonder they spoke of the 501st Captain with high praise. He moved in to position between Sinker and Nine-Six, beckoning for everyone to back up as much as they could, forming a tight semi-circle around the vulnerable opening in the LAAT. "If anyone is injured, make sure they are moved within the circle and close up any gaps." He gave a quick glance to make sure his point was made with the sniper.

Nine-Six has sunk back down to take a knee; the only way he could shoot with such a large rifle accurately, but he was listening. "Sir, yes, sir." It was sullen toned, but he meant it. He didn't want any blood on his hands today. He was surprised to find that he felt a little wave of comfort from having the brothers close on either side.

Each minute seemed to stretch out in to eternity as they stood shoulder to shoulder, or in Nine-Six' case, shoulder to hip, with their brothers. They could hear the movements around them, hidden in the tall ferns which had seemed so pretty during the daylight hours and now felt ominous and oppressive. Nine-Six could track heat signatures through the scope but they were staying far enough back that he had no desire to shoot and risk making them angry. "There's three of them," he murmured softly, not shifting his attention the creatures in his sights. "Six legs, sleek, looks like they could move in suddenly if they wished, but they're staying around four metres back from the camp."

Beside him, Sinker shifted his weight slightly, looking as if he were going to say something when a black shape erupted from the ferns. It veered towards one of the younger troopers, preparing to grab him as he froze in fear, but a volley of shots from all those in position to aim that direction sent it retreating to the undergrowth.

They had a few seconds to regroup before two of them attacked together. They were large and powerful; their shoulder standing at least the height of a trooper.

Beside him Sinker gave a cry of shock as jaws closed around his arm, pulling him away from the line. They were much too close for the sniper rifle, but Wolffe shot a clean bolt in the creatures head, dropping it to the ground while it was preoccupied with its potential meal. He rushed forward to extract his brother from the jaws and Nine-Six found himself moving forward automatically to provide covering fire. He had to drop the sniper rifle and swap to his hand blasters but Fives took the initiative and shouldered the large rifle, shooting warning shots to keep them remaining two creatures away.

Wolffe wrestled with the massive jaws, trying to pry them open enough to release Sinker's arm. The force of the bite had been enough to crush the armour and his sergeant, while not screaming, was making the rhythmic gulping sound of a man trying to cope with pain. He braced his armoured knee against the bottom jaw and heaved the top with both hands, managing to shift it an inch but not enough to remove the grip.

Overhead they could hear the steady noises of a LAAT approaching at high speed. The best sound in the world and it seemed to be enough to scare away the other creatures. The rescue gunship dropped down, flattening the ferns in front of them. Normally the blast doors opened to disgorge more troops, but this one had landed empty. They needed all the space for themselves.

Rex took control while Ahsoka rushed over to lend some assistance. She used the Force to help lend strength to Wolffe's efforts. Nine-Six leant his muscle as well and they all heaved at the stone like jaws. Together they managed to get them open just enough for Ahsoka to gently guide the sergeant's arm out. He sank back, cradling the limb to his chest protectively.

There was a steady stream of blood running down the gauntlet and dripping to the ground. Sinker himself seemed to be in shock; he wasn't moving, he just knelt where he had fell, cradling his arm and rocking slightly.

Rex was powering ahead with the rapid transfer of men from the gunship wreck to the evac LAAT. They'd moved most of the men and were now taking their time to carry the pilots over. Spinal injuries had been ruled out in both cases so they could be moved without risk of paralysis, and Atmo was still unconscious, but Folly wasn't having a good time of it at all. He was supported as thoroughly and gently as possible between six troopers, but every move was agony. He wasn't screaming – despite all the horrific injuries they faced, clones seemed to rarely scream their pain aloud – but he was past groaning and in to breathy pants and trembling, exhausted whimpers.

It only left Nine-Six, Wolffe, Sinker and Ahsoka left to climb in. Rex was waiting for them, one foot in the bay and the other still on the planet; keeping control of both areas, carefully moving troopers so that they could all squeeze in. With the two wounded pilots it was a very tight fit in the bay.

'_You'd better get on board, sir, we're going to be hot footing it out of here._' It was Sidh's voice over Wolffe's private link with the pilots. He sounded up beat…he always did, even when it had been hell to get in and would be hell to get out again. '_Fighter escort are just clearing us space, we need to get moving.'_

Wolffe motioned for the sniper to grip Sinker under the arm and together they got him to his feet. They led him after Ahsoka, urging him as fast as they could.

Rex saw them all safely in to the bay then stepped in himself and let the blast doors slam shut.

Wolffe lowered Sinker carefully to the ground, finding him a spot among the forest of armoured legs. They couldn't do anything right now; the medic's couldn't make it through the crush of bodies to get to them, but Jet had knelt and carefully supported the bleeding limb in an elevated position to slow the bleeding, supporting the sergeant against his chest. His brother, Mica, joined him and began to provide simple combat first aid; pain relief and bandaging to support the limb where the armour – and undoubtedly bone – had shattered under the pressure of the terrific bite.

It was as well that the injured where well supported or sitting on the floor because the experience pilots took the gunship out as if it were a fighter, pushing the engines to their maximum capacity.

Wolffe felt the trooper beside him grab at his arm for support, seeming to go weak at the knees. "Steady, brother, I've got you." He gripped the arm until the moment passed and only then did he realise that it was the rogue sniper. He released him slowly, making sure that he could stand safely, then returned his attention to the pilots. "Do we have med support standing by? We have some significant injuries that need immediate treatment."

'_Ready and waiting in the hanger, sir._' Sidh's voice was comforting and confident. '_Approaching the flagship now. If I were a betting man, I'd say we were home and dry. Prepare for landing.'_

It was something of a trademark for the Wolfpack's skilled and confident pilots to sweep in to the hanger bay at high speed but Tighna and Sidh had the restraint to bring them in steadily and land in the empty space with a smooth grace.

The med team were waiting to take the injured and the process of disembarking was surprisingly quick. It had been a relief to see the medics on duty immediately on hand to administer a strong intravenous pain relief for Folly. He was bordering on unconsciousness now anyway, but at least it made the final trip to bacta as pain free as possible.

Once the injured had been taken away, it left a rather small contingent left standing. Rex had gone with Kix to help in the medbay, leaving Wolffe with his own troopers. Everything was deathly silent, apart from the quiet noises of the pilots cleaning and prepping the LAAT so that it was ready for immediate dispatch if required. Most of the 104th troops were down on the planet; even the hanger bay seemed empty without the tanks and walkers taking up the back space. It made it feel empty and desolate.

He was about to give a brief talk before dismissing them men when a clatter drew his attention away from his own thoughts. Boost and Jet were knelt by the sniper's side, shaking him and trying to rouse him from his unconscious state. Mica fished in his pocket and pulled out a stim, glancing up at the commander. "He's out cold, sir? Shall I give him it?"

Wolffe knelt by his side and placed a finger to the brother's neck. His vitals were fine. "Extreme adrenaline dump, maybe? He was a bit wobbly on the way back." He was concerned despite his desire to be annoyed with the rude, irritating man. "Get his plates off and check him for injuries. It could be anything."

Between them they stripped away the upper torso plates and body glove, searching his skin for wounds. It was Jet who found the small metal dart digging in to the flesh of his shoulder. "Ah, look, this could be our culprit. Discreet little chakaar." He gripped it to pull it out and let out a yelp as the jolt shot through his arm.

The shock was enough to rouse the sniper and he flailed, struggling weakly against the hands gripping him.

Wolffe motioned for the brothers to hold tight and then ejected his vibroblade. He braced himself for the shock and jammed the point of the blade in to the flesh, prying loose the dart until he was able to wrench it from the skin, letting it drop to the floor beside them.

Nine-Six's yelps had drawn the attention of the General as he returned from his fighter and he made his way over to them as they puzzled over this unusual artefact. "Can I be of assistance, Commander?" He towered over them, but every member of the 104th trusted him implicitly. He bridged the gap between Jedi and clone with his care for the men under his command. He laid a comforting hand on Nine-Six's shoulder as the sniper sat up unsteadily.

Wolffe handed him the dart. It didn't seem to shock now that it had been pried free from the flesh but they all handled it with extreme care. "Do you know what this is, sir? It was embedded in Nine-Six' shoulder."

The sniper tried to reach to dab ineffectually at his shoulder blade, feeling the slow trickle of blood from the wound. "…native, sir. Shot by one…those 'neutrals' you spoke of." His speech was a little slurred but he still made his point.

Koon broke in to the conversation before Wolffe could make any reply to that, turning the dart over and over in his palm. "This is a hunter's dart. Not a weapon at all." He grasped it between his fingers to show the serrated tip. "Do you see how the tip is hollow? The dart is designed to release a drug in to the creature and these people follow the beast until it collapses. It is a means to hunt without having to chase. Once they have darted their prey, they just have to follow it until it is too weak to move."

Wolffe looked shocked, not expecting to hear of his men being 'hunted' like this. "Do you think they meant to kill him when he fell?" It was a terrible thought.

Koon pocketed the dart – wanting to give it further study. This could have implications for the troops on the planet, but not for those weary men standing before him right now. "I don't know, Commander, but all I can suggest is that somebody gets him to his bed so he can sleep off the effects in comfort. May I suggest that he is checked regularly? There should be no implications to the health of fit men like yourself, but just in case." He smiled at the exhausted, drugged sniper. "A glass of water and a comfortable place to rest his head and he should be fine. Can I entrust him to your capable hands, Boost?"

Boost nodded, already hauling the sniper to his feet with a supportive arm around his waist. "Leave it to me, sir."

Koon smiled, pleased to see the squad rallying around the new addition, even if Wolffe was still standing back with fear and trepidation in his soul. "Commander, can you spare me a few minutes? I would like to see you in the briefing room. We have much to discuss."


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Wolffe trailed after his general, trying to look alert whenever he passed other troopers, but the exhaustion had crept up and blindsided him again. He needed to get to the medbay and oversee the treatment of his men. What he really needed was a stim to get him going again, but that would have to wait for the time being.

The general led him to his office and closed the door with a quiet hiss. It was much the same as Wolffe's office but slightly bigger and a great deal neater. The commander's desk was always covered in flimsy and various important documents needing his attention. Really, he could have everything electronic on his datapad, but he liked to be able to see and organise his workload. It prevented him from overlooking anything.

Koon took a seat at his desk and steepled his fingers, giving him that patient attention that Jedi seemed to always possess. "How did he behave?"

Wolffe stood to attention out of respect for his senior officer, despite being offered a seat. "Who, sir?" He knew to whom the Jedi was referring, but he stalled to give himself time to compose himself.

What he wanted to do was rant about the bloody mindedness of his new sniper and the risk that he had taken in disappearing in to the undergrowth alone. Although he had been pleased with how he handled himself under attack from the creatures, and with how well he'd meshed with the 501st men. Mostly he wanted to pull his hair out and cry because it was like Sol all over again. The sniper's attitude was putting him in danger and if they didn't get him to integrate with the squad, he was going to end up dead.

"The sniper, Commander Wolffe. He was unwell upon your return."

_Ah, yes…someone should really have found that dart earlier, but if he wouldn't tell them when he was injured then what chance did they stand. It was infuriating._

"Wolffe?" Koon radiated concern as he gazed up at his comrade. "At ease, son."

Wollffe tried to relax, wanting to shake his arms to ease the tension but settling for placing them behind his back with his hands clasped tightly. "He's doing better, sir, but he still acts on his own initiative too much. He's still thinking like a special ops trooper." He shifted slightly to ease the ache in his legs. "He didn't inform us of any injury, sir. You said he'd be okay once he'd slept it off?"

Koon settled forward with his elbows on the desk surface. He let the silence settle for a moment before continuing. "Take your armour off, please, commander."

"Sir?"

"Take your armour off for me, please."

Wolffe stood stock still, completely upended by the unexpected request. He didn't know where this was going but he slowly began to shed the heavy plates. It would be nice to be free of the weight for a few minutes…his only concern was putting it all back on again after tasting the freedom. He removed every piece until he was stood in the black undersuit, unsure of whether to stand to attention or at ease. Anything felt stupid dressed like this in front of the general.

"Now the top of your suit, please." Koon stood up slowly and circled the desk as his commander shed the upper half of the black body suit and stood awkwardly in the centre of the room, surrounded by his kit.

He was a strong men – as were all the clones – but there was a definite lack of body fat that would usually be present. His muscles were much more defined but not in a positive way. He looked underweight, and they didn't carry much in the way of spare flesh that could be sacrificed. It was exactly what he had expected to see and it proved his personal concerns.

"When did you last sit down in the mess for a proper meal? Not just a mug of caf and a ration bar…a proper meal." He moved forward to gently squeeze his shoulder, careful not to dig in with his claws. "And when did you last take a full eight hours sleep?"

Wolffe opened his mouth but realised he couldn't think of an answer. He couldn't lie to the Jedi; it would be noticed, but more importantly, he didn't _want _to lie to Plo Koon. He deserved honesty but he couldn't remember what the honest answer would be. He'd lost all track of days. He just went from job to job, getting everything done and grabbing whatever means of energy he could get at the time. Usually that meant caf and stims.

Koon waited patiently for an answer, but he didn't stretch the silence too long; not wanting to hurt an already vulnerable friend. "I know you miss trooper Sol, but you can't go on punishing yourself for what happened. He's safe and your eye is working well. You must look to the positive."

"He never did anything wrong, sir. Nothing that warranted Kamino, anyway." The commander let his eyes drop to the floor, trying to prevent his mind from straying to the brother that he would never see again. It was a painful and wasteful experience, yet he found himself spending many hours staring into the darkness and thinking of every moment they had together, even those hours trapped in that Force forsaken cave. "If it weren't for his study and skill, it might have been me they sent to Kamino. He should have been given a medal, not a death sentence." He felt the slight scratchy texture of the Kel Dor's claws against his back as he was pulled in to an embrace. He was too nervous to reply in kind because he was scared that if he did, it would give permission to the tears and if he started to cry then there'd be no stopping it and he wasn't going through that here in his superior officer's room.

The Jedi took care not to pull away too abruptly. He waited until he felt his commander's breathing even out again, then when he was sure the man was in control of his emotions, he moved back and stepped away to stand by the desk; ensuring that he gave him space. "Wolffe, I have to find accommodation for Ahsoka. Would you mind moving in to your squad's quarters while she's here? Commander Faie is currently using a room that is usually available for non-clone personnel but if he could move in to your room for a short period that would free up the space for Ahsoka. Would that be okay?"

It was a long shot, and distastefully conceited, to be constructing such a convoluted excuse for move everyone around. There was plenty space for Ahoka but that wasn't the point. Spending time with the men would prevent Wolffe from working every hour of the day and night, and his close squad brothers would ensure that he was caring for himself better. It was the best move to help him. And it may help with the stand-off between the commander and the newly appointed sniper specialist. When forced in to close contact they would start to get to know each other better. Maybe that would improve the atmosphere between them.

"You may get dressed, son." It was hard to give the man a dressing down like this. He was a good commander, but it was for his own good. "How old are you now, Commander?"

Wolffe didn't hesitate – this was the first question he felt he could answer easily. "I'm eleven years and seven standard months old now, sir. One of the oldest batches." And he felt every day of it.

Koon was careful to keep his emotions away from his expression. He could feel Wolffe's exhausted frustration; he was feeling old, yet really he was a child and didn't realise it. _A mere youngling…a youngling in the body of a soldier. It was cruel. _"You're doing everything well, Commander. You need to take care of yourself." He watched him replacing the armour. He did it all without conscious effort…they spent so long in this armour that it was more like a second skin. _They never got to play or have fun…never a chance to just be children. _

Wolffe straightened out his armour, ensuring that it was all sitting correctly, then straightened up in an attempt to look calm and unaffected. "I do my best, sir. I always do my best, but sometimes it's not good enough." He hesitated for a moment before an unguarded thought made it past his barriers. "I don't know how to achieve better than that, but I try."

"There is nothing better than trying your hardest, my boy. That is all you can ever do and nobody should ask more of you."

Wolffe stared down at his own hands, uncharacteristically quiet. "My brother's still die. There has to be something better. Their lives are in my hands…there has to be better than 'best'." His eyes were wet but he was determined not to shed a tear.

Koon moved forward again to lay a hand on the smooth plastoid, trying to offer comfort through the solid, impenetrable shell.

"I know, son. I know."


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The movement and activity of the room was what eventually dragged Nine-Six from his drug induced slumber. A quick glance at the wall chrono told him it was nearly 08:00 so everyone who was fit and well were beginning to surface for breakfast.

If it weren't for the fact that they were technically out of the duty rotation, they would all have been up much earlier, but being involved in a high speed crash granted them an automatic twenty four hour recovery period. Unless something became critical planet-side even the commander was granted the recovery period.

Speaking of whom, he was extremely surprised to see that that was who was curled up on the bunk opposite. It was usually empty unless a visitor had fallen asleep in their room – in which case, Sinker had a pretty lax approach which involved bundling the offender in to the available bed and letting them have that thirty second panic when they woke up in the wrong bed, in the wrong room, with the wrong brothers laughing at them.

He sat up slowly, feeling the typical dizziness that came with too many drugs and too little fluids. A bottle of water was pushed in to his hands and he looked up gratefully.

"Figured you'd be feeling thirsty." Ghost smiled warmly, sitting beside the sniper on the narrow bunk. "Can I check your pulse before you get up? I just want to make sure you're not suffering any adverse effects from that dart."

Nine-Six settled back and offered his wrist, taking a few big gulps of the water. He let the medic take his pulse, then let himself be turned and his fatigue tunic lifted so that the wound could be examined. It still stung a little when poked, but nobody had put a bacta patch on it the night before so it was healing up slowly by itself.

Ghost cursed quietly, using his sleeve to mop up the blood that had started to ooze since he had nudged at the wound. He'd been too busy in the medbay to have found out about this until he returned at around midnight, by when the sniper was fast asleep and he hadn't wanted to wake him up again. General Plo had assured them all that the only remedy was sleep and while the medic in him disagreed and wanted to have him in the medbay on a drip, he did trust the Jedi and would accept his greater experience in the matter. He'd made sure to check up on him every few hours and he had even woken at one point in the early hours to find Mica sitting with the sleeping sniper, watching over him as he tossed and turned in dreams. It was good to see the squad supporting the new member, even if he was a bit standoffish and bad tempered. It was a pity that Nine-Six wasn't aware of his temporary companion, but he had been so exhausted that even someone sitting beside him wouldn't make him stir.

Nine-Six hissed between his teeth as Ghost produced some antiseptic from who knows where…medics always seemed to have their kit on hand, even first thing in the morning, and dabbed it on to the ragged wound. The dart had had serrated, backward facing barbs which held it in the flesh, so Wolffe's blunt method of digging it out had left quite an untidy mess behind. He felt the cool of a waterproof bacta patch being applied and glanced down at his bedding. He'd smeared blood across the top of the under sheet as he moved around in the night. He hadn't been aware of it bleeding but by all accounts, he had been pretty much comatose!

"It's clean, but keep that dressing on and I'll change it for a fresh one tonight. You can do whatever you want with your day of rest. You're essentially fit." Ghost wiped away the remaining blood with a surgical wipe then lowered the tunic back in place. He ruffled his brother's hair before he got a chance to retreat. "Tell me next time you have an injury though, vod'ika. I'm good, but I'm not that good. I can't read minds yet!"

Nine-Six managed a laugh. "You were a little busy, weren't you?!" He rolled his shoulders to check his range of movement. "You haven't yet succeeded in sprouting extra arms."

"Don't underestimate a medic, my friend."

* * *

_**Just a short chapter today. This didn't really fit with the next bit - not to be in the same chapter, but I felt it as too important to drop from the story - so I thought it could stand alone as a little scene. ~ Atin**_


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Wolffe was hunting high and low for his evasive sniper but the man seemed to be able to disappear no the ship just as well as he could on hostile terrain. He had made this passing remark to the General as he collected together the injury reports and had been halted in his tracks by the casual reminder from the steady Kel Dor that maybe Nine-Six felt like the ship still was hostile terrain. That had ambushed him with a hefty dose of guilt because he didn't like to think of any of his men feeling like that, but he had to remind himself that Nine-Six wasn't 'one of his men'…he was a special ops sniper who had been foisted upon him by the powers that be. He didn't ask to have a bad tempered sniper who didn't even want to be there. But the Jedi had succeeded in making him concerned for new man.

He passed Comet in the corridors and quizzed him but he had no idea where to find Nine-Six. He wasn't in the mess, the barracks or the rec room, so the last place he could think to look was the training rooms.

He tried the gym but it was practically empty; most were making the most of a day off without any drills or work, but he made his way through the complex of rooms until he got to the shared changing facilities at the centre. He was about to give up his search when he noticed a neat pile grey camo armour on the end of the far bench. A quick inspection revealed all of Nine-Six' kit, resting on the folded under suit. So he must be around here somewhere.

Wolffe moved slowly past the benches and stood still, listening to see if he could hear any movement. It was only when he caught the soft splashing that he realised he had never thought to check the pool. Few brothers would swim through choice and the pool was largely for fitness and necessarily skills maintenance.

He had planned to spend some time – as subtly as he could – in the snipers company to try to ease some of the tension. It was Plo Koon's suggestion; although suggestion was really the wrong term…it was a suggestion made with warnings that meant he was expected to follow through and undertake them.

He quietly shed his armour and body suit, replacing them with the trunks which he hated with a passion. He much preferred the proper exercises where they wore the sealed armour designed for underwater work, but nobody wore that when just working on fitness so he would just have to live with it.

Nine-Six was so absorbed in his exercise, covering the distance in a clean and rapid stroke, that Wolffe was able to submerge and start swimming before he was noticed. He kept pace a metre away from the sniper, heading towards the far edge of the pool, hoping that he'd stop for a breather there. Swimming without propulsion aids was hard work for clones because of their muscle mass, so hopefully he would take a break.

His assumptions were correct; Nine-Six got to the edge of the pool and heaved himself out to sit on the edge, chest rising and falling rapidly as he caught his breath. The sniper rolled his shoulder, trying to ease the ache away from the damaged tissue.

Instead of stopping, Wolffe gave him a brief nod then headed back for another few laps to make it look less like he'd just turned up to try an awkward chat. He managed a further four laps of the long pool before he chose to come to a halt.

Nine-Six was still sitting on the edge of the pool, reclined back to rest on his elbows with his eyes closed, swinging his legs lazily through the water. He was strangely unscarred for a veteran trooper and it was like looking at a rookie. The only obvious scar was a burn on his left hand which twisted a short distance up his forearm. It was nothing compared to what you would expect in a seasoned trooper – even the good men got hurt. It came with the job. If you missed the shots, then shrapnel would probably get you. Everyone was a unique tapestry of marks. They may be clones, but everyone different both physically and mentally; they were the sum of their experiences, and Nine-Six' experiences were largely away from the active battle front.

Despite his own desire for distance, it was hard not to admire the way the water pooled in the ridges of abdominal muscle, shifting and rippling with each tired breath. It was a vice; to look at a brother like this. It removed the crucial edge but usually he knew his men too well as brothers to end up giving them this sort of consideration. It was a strange line to walk – and one which gave him a lot of heart ache. If he knew the men well as brothers, like Boost, Sinker and the rest of his men, he could look at them this way. He could draw a technical conclusion – every single one of them were attractive, of course they were one and the same – but if he knew them then he felt like he was doing something intrusive or voyeuristic to look at them like this. He had to serve side by side with his men…rarely did he allow his mind to wander off like this because it would be detrimental to the working relationship. He didn't mind if any of the men under his command took time in the company of a brother, but his position made it impossible. Even if he didn't impose these self-inflicted rules on his own desires, there wouldn't be a brother who was willing to approach such a superior officer like that.

_Except maybe one who saw himself as standing outside of the command structure…_

He growled quietly under his breath, reeling his mind back in from that dangerous tangent. He had come so close with Sol. Given himself over to the desire and that one time it had been ripped away from him. That was just how it was. He got respect, privacy and power; but all that really meant was he spent a fair portion of time lonely and held the responsibility for every brother under his command. Every death was his fault as far as he was concerned. It was up to him to find a way to care for those under him and if it went wrong, it was them who paid the price while he walked away alive.

"Are you okay, sir?" Nine-Six had cracked an eye open when he heard the growl. It was a noise he associated with anger, but it was laced with frustration in this case. He sat upright to see better, pulling his feet out the water to sit cross legged. He'd come in here because he was guaranteed peace and quiet, but here was the one man he wanted to avoid._ If this was going to be another shouting at then he would have to turn and walk away. If he injured a superior officer that would be a Kamino offence and he had no desire to go out like that. An honourable death would allow him to rejoin his lost brothers, so if that meant walking away from the arguments then that's exactly what he would do._

Wolffe was so startled to be dragged from his memories that he opened his mouth and choked on a mouthful of water, feeling the chemicals stinging his nose and throat._ It wasn't advisable to try drinking the water. _He coughed and spluttered, automatically trying to rest his foot on the bottom to regain his composure but forgetting that he was too deep to do that and sinking like a stone only to surface in a further panic now that he was disorientated, swallowing more liquid.

_He hated water. Ever since the unplanned dip through the submerged tunnels with Sol. He may have been safe in his own armour, but seeing how easy it was for Sol to nearly drown had put a deep seated fear in his own mind. Fortunately he didn't have to do much wet work with the Wolfpack but it was still becoming more and more of a fear. _

He felt the waves as Nine-Six dropped in beside him to grab a hold of his arm and guide him the short distance back to grip the edge of the pool. His first instinct was to get out, but he didn't have the energy or momentum to heave himself out. That wasn't going to stop him and he kicked hard against the water to propel himself out on to the cold floor surface. Much to his embarrassment, he was assisted the last little way by a firm shove on the shebs from the sniper who he must surely be drowning with all his kicking and flailing. As soon as he was clear of the water he dragged himself away from the edge, still coughing despite being free of the water and able to take breaths of air.

Nine-Six hefted himself back out and thumped the commander on the back, helping him clear his throat. The strict and fearsome leader was obviously not in his element out here, which made him question why he'd come in. Maybe he was going to get a shouting at, but it was a strange way to go about it – surely Wolffe would have just called him in to a meeting to give him a dressing down. "Are you okay, sir?"

Wolffe turned over to sit down, running a hand over his face to get the water from his eye. He felt like a complete fool; to be brought to such a state by a little wet._ If Nine-Six hadn't been there to help him, would he have been able to prevent himself panicking? He was just out of reach of the pool's edge – he should have been able to get control easily – yet he had allowed himself to sink and flail, wasting energy on useless movement_. That wasn't good – he would have to work to get over this before it became a problem. "I'm fine…I'm not good with water. Had an unexpected dip in an underground river a few months ago. The ground went out from under us and we got carried along through submerged tunnels." He couldn't suppress the shudder. "I was okay, my suit held up, but the trooper I fell with nearly drowned."

He was shivering properly now despite the ambient temperature. His body had told him he was in danger and now he was getting the flood of adrenaline. He felt the need to repeat himself, as much for his own peace of mind. "I'm fine…"

Nine-Six sat back on his heels, watching him critically. "You got a fright. You're okay…it's only natural to get the shakes." He felt grudgingly sympathetic. So far he hadn't been insulted or shouted at. Maybe he should just ask outright. "What did you come swimming on your rest day for if you don't like it?"

"To chat…"Wolffe tried to smile but couldn't raise more than a hint of the emotion he wished to convey. "I didn't plan on swallowing half the pool."

It was as close to kindness that Nine-Six had seen from the leader so he backed off a little with his natural defensiveness. "That didn't really go to plan then, did it?" He stood up and offered a hand. "Let's shower then go and get you some caf. I think you need it to settle your nerves."

Wolffe accepted the assistance to stand, but his stomach clenched.

_Aw, fek…a shower with the sniper…that wasn't going to help. It was thoughts like that which had got him in to this mess in the first place…_


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Wolffe followed the sniper back to the showers, keeping his gaze fixed on the floor rather than the muscular and shapely rear that was demanding his attention. This wasn't a good idea. Normally he had the privacy of his own shower unless they were planet-side, in which case the constant stress and threat was enough to keep his mind on the mission, but here the distraction was powerful.

Nine-Six seemed oblivious to the charged atmosphere and stripped to step under the warm water. He turned in the flow to fully enjoy the heat, his back to the wall. He reached for a handful of soap, keeping his eyes shut and moving by feel.

Wolffe took this opportunity to get undressed and selected a shower a few down from the other man. Not far enough away to be rude, but enough to hopefully keep a lid on his own mind.

He filled his palm with liquid soap and lathered up, trying to think of nothing but counting the tiles. His eyes slipped around towards the sniper completely against his will.

_Fek...fek, fek, fek..._

He squeezed his eyes shut and tried a mental reset, only opening them again when he thought he had himself under control. His throat was still stinging from the chemicals in the water and he coughed hard to try to ease it. _What a stupid thing to do in front of this new brother. How did he manage to end up drowning himself like a shiny in the complete perfect controlled environment of the ship pool? What did that say for his chances in a river..._

"Are you okay, Commander?" Nine-Six was watching him, aware of his distress but with no idea that he was the source. He cocked his head and turned completely to face him, scanning him with his eyes to search for any sign of pain. "Would you like me to go and find one of the medics?"

"I'm fine," Wolffe growled, harsher than he really intended, but his eyes had been drawn like magnets, following the rivulets of water making their way down his sniper's body. _Now he was saying 'his'...that was bad_. He was breaking an unwritten rule; there was no body consciousness in an army of clones and they had never been allowed even a modicum of privacy in their lives, but each brother obeyed the silent agreement of 'eyes up'. It wasn't hard. The troopers did everything together, day in, day out, so there was nothing novel in another brother's body, but they always gave each other what privacy they could. Generally nobody cared but it was still bad form. He was so used to having the privacy of his own shower and he was out of practice. If it were Ghost, or Sinker, or any of his squad, it wouldn't be a problem - he didn't look at them like this. He respected them as his closest vode and he could never look at them with lust. He loved them too much to get tied up like that.

But this defiant, proud vod pushed all the right buttons and following that trail of water was so hypnotic that it was all he could do to drag his eyes away. His anger hid his embarrassment, but it was enough to push away the light from the sniper's eyes. He sighed quietly as Nine-Six turned away from him, shutting down abruptly. _They'd only just been beginning to break down the barriers and he'd gone and stuck his foot in it again. _

He turned away and counting to ten in his head to cool his ardour, knowing full well that he'd need to find a moment of privacy later to work one out alone. He was going to be red hot if he didn't; that rivulet running over and over in his mind until he worked it out his system. And of course, this was the one time when he didn't have the luxury of his own room. He was beginning to think that the general had somehow engineered this to force him to spend time in the sniper's company. _Where was he going to find privacy in a communal room and fresher? What did the squad do...did they have some complex set of rules...or maybe a schedule...or did they just not care?_ He could remember back to Kamino, where the rush of testosterone at puberty had brought about experimentation and a new closeness between some vode. Many had grown out of it once the novelty wore off - some preferred their own hand and the innocuous twi'lek and zeltron pin-ups, or a well-worn fantasy in the privacy of their own mind - but there were a few left, like Wolffe, who enjoyed the company of another man. Being a commander was like a bucket of cold water to Wolffe's sex life. After graduating, it was gone. He may have had occasional fun with brothers in his training group, but once he was put in to the command structure, he became untouchable to most. Nobody would make a pass at the commander. It was too much for most brothers. Romance had blossomed naturally with Sol, but then that sweet brother had seen him at his weakest and been lured in. Most would only see the scar, the scowl and the rank, and back away.

He reached ten and turned around, gazing at the tense back turned in his direction. The bacta patch had come loose and there was a smear of blood mixing with the water. If it was hurting, the sniper made no comment on it. He seemed that way though; completely stoic and hard.

Wolffe finished washing and headed through to the benches to dry off, fishing around in his belt pouch until he found what he was looking for. When Nine-Six came through wrapped in a towel, he moved over to make space on the bench and patted it. "Your patch has come loose and it's bleeding again." He held up the fresh dressing in his hand. "Sit down and I'll clean it up for you, okay? I'm not as good as Ghost, but for this I think I'm good enough."

Nine-Six gave him a wary look but sat down slowly, turning to shoulder so that it could be cleaned up and dressed. It wasn't quite acceptance, but it was a truce.

* * *

The caf had a wonderful effect, easing his rather frayed nerves. It was one of those things which he didn't particularly like, but he had come to rely it its mild psychoactive effects to help him through the long hours.

As cadets on Kamino, every part of their diet had been closely monitored from day one. There had been no caf for them on Kamino; just water and bland, flavourless food-board. They still had this situation when planet-side, but fortunately the mess provided them with a small range of options, and most troopers had taken to caf with great enthusiasm. It gave the buzz that high energy men craved. Pretty much every vod like to start his day with a large mug of caf now, except for a few odd-bods like Mica who preferred the more herbal taste of tisane.

Wolffe leant forward with his elbows on the table surface, feeling suitably settled by the comfortingly familiar taste. "Why 'Nine-Six' so far in to the war?" He was maybe pushing his luck, but the sniper seemed relatively relaxed. "You're not a shiny, that's obvious enough."

The air thickened and it was clear that this line of questioning was both expected but undesired.

"A fresh start."

That was all he got in way of a reply, and he found himself feeling fortunate to have even been given that much. A small part of him had expected the unconventional vod to swear at him and tell him to him his own business. The sniper was so used to being outside of the normal squad command that he seemed to have little fear of over stepping the bounds with the higher ranks. He was obviously used to occupying his own little box to the side of the norm. _Well that was somewhere to start..._ "Where you part of a squad before? It seems to be quite new to you."

Nine-Six glowered for a second, but his eyes dropped to the table and for a second Wolffe was sure they softened. It didn't last long, and the walls came up mere seconds later. "Of course. We're all in squads unless you're an Alpha." It was growled and abrupt, but he seemed to realise that Wolffe wasn't trying to antagonise him so he carried on, still cold and void of emotion. "I was part of a special ops squad. All snipers like me. We trained together but we were given assignments independently. Usually working in teams but we were hired out, for want of a better word, when the skills were needed. If you ever called in a commando sniper it was probably us you got. There were ten of us to a squad but we were paired off."

It was the most conversation anyone seemed to have been able to drag out of the brother. Maybe he was getting somewhere. "Tell me about your squad."

It wasn't an order but Nine-Six took it like one and he clammed up instantly; his grip tightening on the mug until his knuckles were white. Each breath was carefully measured and he seemed to be biting his tongue to keep from saying anything he'd regret. Eventually he managed to unclenched his jaw. "I don't want to talk about them, sir."

The honorific seemed to be his attempt to show he didn't want a fight, so Wolffe gave him a get out. "Okay, steady...don't break the mug." He watched him, waiting until the tension eased a little. "Do you want to tell me about your training? I could maybe make better use of you if I understand your skills and weaknesses."

That seemed to be enough of a kindness for Nine-Six to pause, giving him a look which was questioning and cautious. He didn't seem to know whether this was a wind up or truth. He'd had nothing but torment from the commander but there was none of that in his eyes right now. He seemed genuinely interested. "...it'd be a long story."

Wolffe managed his characteristic half smile. "We've got no orders for the time being. For once time seems to be on our side." He picked up his mug and took another sip, watching the handsome sniper do the same. "I'm in no rush, ner vod."

* * *

**_We're starting to get towards the defining moment for this pair - in the next few chapters. What will make Wolffe drop his act and admit his feelings - it's going to be a big moment and it'll take a big thing to drag him to that point; we all know how stubborn he is! The next few chapters will be big emotion ones - ha, she says...now I've got to live up to that. ~ Atin_**


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

The city looked just as bad up close as it had from a distance. They were to take the east and work towards the control centre and take over. Simple orders – pity it was never truly simple. Once they controlled this area the Seps would have to fall back. It was very up close and personal, and working among buildings put them at risk from snipers as they advanced so they had brought in their heavy armoured tanks; the AT-TE's cutting a path for the chunkier A4 Juggernauts. They were old tech compared to the new A6 models, but they were perfect armoured vehicles for urban terrain. The A6 was just too large for anything but the widest of streets. This allowed them to keep pushing forward unless they hit strong resistance and so far, it was proving relatively easy.

Wolffe rode in the lead Juggernaut with two of his squads, Sergeant Sinker's and Captain Akki's, and the General. It might have puzzled on lookers to see a sergeant and a captain placed on an even footing, but Sinker was a captain in everything but title. If he'd wanted the promotion he could have had it many times over, but he was happy with the continuity.

Nobody liked this type of approach because only the drivers could see what was going on around them, but the scouts and intel had suggested that a brute force push like this would force back the Seps. They didn't have defences in place that would stop these huge vehicles. All they needed to do was break through and then keep control of the resource. This in turn would break down the communication routes and allow the skirmishes across the planet to be quelled.

It was a very important target.

Taking the zone was proving easy, but they had to be prepared to hold it too. Undoubtedly the Seps would launch a counter-attack, so they had to get set up defensively as quickly as possible.

* * *

The Juggernaut came to a halt in the built up industrial centre. This was a mining planet and while those running the mines may come away rich, the average workers lived a much more austere lifestyle. The buildings were sparse duracrete monoliths with grubby, dusty windows and tired facades.

As the squads assembled ready, set up in defensive positions, the stark whiteness of the troopers armour made everything seem even worse than it did anyway. It truly was a miserable town.

The area was void of anyone but the troopers, but that didn't mean that they were actually alone or safe.

Wolffe moved from squad to squad, splitting them up and sending them to specific locations with instructions to scope out and get set up. Two groups of scouts were moving forward again, to watch out for any movement and give advanced warning to the rest of the troopers staying in defence.

Nine-Six moved off quietly with his assigned group; Mica and Boost from his own squad, and the young shiny from the firing range, Rhen, who had been assigned to Akki's squad. They had been given an area to cover in and around a run down two storey apartment complex.

Nine-Six took Rhen with him to check the inside the building while the other two scoped out the yard and alleys. It was dingy inside, full of dust and dirt. It didn't look like anyone had been living hear but they had to have been; it just showed how terrible the conditions where for the normal folk. He found himself wondering what had happed to those 'normal people' when the osik hit the fan here and the minor skirmish had become a full battle for power. He had no idea what was so valuable about this force forsaken planet, but it wasn't the troopers place to wonder…they were just expected to get on with it. It was probably the mining rights. Never mind the people – it would be the resources that they were fighting over. Neither side cared about the poor families stuck in the middle just trying to make a living.

He moved carefully, checking from room to room just in case there was somebody left behind. He could keep track of his assigned partner no problem; the shiny really did shine in his white armour in the gloom, whereas Nine-Six blended in almost completely. The grey and black patterns on his armour were good camouflage regardless of the terrain, but it was going to be particularly good for this task. He was going to complete this sweep with the group, then get kitted up and find a good spot to lay low. It was one of the pleasures of being a sniper, especially now that Wolffe allowed him to use his initiative and skills to the best affect – he could get peace and quiet to settle himself in and the satisfaction of knowing that he was in the best position to protect the squads of troopers. He'd left his rifle back in the Juggernaut for now, but he missed its comforting weight over his shoulders.

Rhen moved ahead of him in to a small, shadowy room – a kid's bedroom before this conflict, judging by the peeling décor. He froze, his trooper's instinct telling him that something had changed, but his inexperience showed.

Nine-Six saw it before Rhen; a small flashing in the corner and he knew they must have triggered an invisible beam. _Booby trap. _"Get down!" He shoved the shiny hard in the opposite direction and reacted on pure instinct.

He threw himself on top of the flashing light, knowing that the countdown would be too short to do even consider disabling it. His armour was superior to that of the regular troopers; hardened to the standard used by ARC troopers but not quite the all-powerful katarn worn by RCs.

It was long seconds upon seconds before the explosion lifted him, throwing him back against the wall where Rhen had flattened himself. He saw red light through his closed eyelids before his helmet shut down to protect him from the flare. The sound was so loud that he felt it.

The blow had knocked the wind from him and he seeing stars, but the armour had held up. It had been a low grade explosive; crude…definitely not military standard…but that hadn't stopped it hurting.

Rhen was on his feet already, looking dazed and confused and it wasn't long before the noise brought Boost and Mica running. By the time the first medic made it on the scene, Nine-Six was on his feet. He was acting as if nothing happened, but he did allow Kohl to lead them away for a check over, but mainly because it was the only way they'd get Rhen to submit to the medic. He seemed to have an ingrained fear that accepting medical help was going to make him worse; it was undoubtedly a hangover from seeing his brother die while Ghost fought valiantly to save him. The medic's weren't perfect but they always did their utmost. If Ghost couldn't save him, then there was nothing that could be done…but that couldn't help Rhen and his fear.

Nine-Six pulled himself up straight, ignoring the twinge of pain and placing a firm hand on the shiny's shoulder. "C'mon, I'll come too, you'll be fine." He did his best to comfort. He felt he owed Rhen a lot and he had got to quite like the younger brother's company on the firing range when they were training.

Ghost was already waiting for them in the small medroom inside the juggernaut. It was a compact space, but the protection of the armoured vehicle made it a real godsend in an emergency scenario. The blonde medic seemed to understand Rhen's fear, and just brushed away the stuttered apologies. Kohl would look after the shiny and Ghost would check over the sniper.

Nine-Six sat down carefully on the bed, letting the medic take his readings and begin to remove the armour plates. "I'm fine, Ghost, honestly. Just bruised. It's good armour and the explosive was amateur osik…" He hissed as the abdominal plate dug in. "Ah…okay, it's going to be a big bruise, but that's all…"

Ghost ignored his complaints and assurances. He heard it every time, even from troopers with severe injuries. Shock could stop you feeling the damage until it was too late, but he had to admit he was impressed with the protection provided by the enhanced armour. He gently forced the sniper to lay back flat, and placed his hands on his abdomen. He didn't apply too much pressure because there would be bruises forming from the concussive shockwave, but he wanted to check for localised pain reaction.

Despite his feigned nonchalance, the sniper couldn't help but flinch and curse. "Hey…hey, Ghost, let up." The medic always had a soft and gentle touch, but it still hurt when he applied that pressure. He squirmed carefully, relieved when he was released. "It's fine, I've not had any meds. Just give me a shot of something and I'll get moving. It's nothing I can't walk off." _That was probably true, he'd be fine on the move, although he would definitely stiffen up as the bruises blossomed. A few shots of anti-inflammatory, a nice hypo of pain relief and he'd be good to go again. _

Ghost selected a few hypos, rolling them between his palms to mix the ingredients. "Watch over the next few hours, you may start passing blood when you-"

"Okay…okay, ner vod. I'm fine. It wasn't like a shot straight in the kidneys, it'll just be one big bruise, that's all…" Nine-Six wasn't patient when it came to others fussing over him and he just wanted to be released so he could limp off to his planned nest with his rifle and do his job. "If I drop dead from some unnoticed internal bleeding then we'll all know I should have listened…" He took the hypos from the medic's hand and self-administered them so that he was free to leave. It maybe wasn't the smartest move, because he saw stars when he bent down to gather up his armour. But he was determined not to be confined to the Juggernaut for mere bruises. There was work to be done.

He was aware of Ghost watching him with a reproachful expression and he felt a pang of guilt. The medic was a good brother…a very good brother, and he didn't want to hurt him, but this was one situation where his role as a sniper really was a key position and he wasn't going to miss the opportunity to do his part. It had been months since he chatted to Rhen about his views of life after death, but whenever he let his mind wander, it always came back to that conversation.

He opened his comm connection to the Commander as he eased himself carefully out of the vehicle.

"I'm moving in to position, sir. Good luck."

He didn't wait for a reply, just in case it was telling him to stand down. He didn't want to disobey orders.

That wasn't the way of a trooper.

_It wasn't honourable._

* * *

**_Argh...next chapter is the biggie! ~ Atin_**


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

It was one of those battles that was ending with a bang. There had been no counter attacks launched on the occupying troops at all but just when they had started to relax a little, the explosions started.

Since it had been quiet, a third of the troops had pulled back to the square to set up a camp and get some food going and nobody had expected the buildings to start coming down. The explosives had been carefully rigged within the superstructure because nothing was visible to the troopers as they inspected their surroundings. Obviously the Seps had anticipated being overrun and had decided that if they couldn't have the control zone, nobody would. There had to be something valuable that they didn't want to hand over, but it was too late to find out what that was.

Wolffe ducked away as another explosion rocked the ground and rained debris and dust upon them. This was definitely a good time to have the General planet-side; his force shield had already protected the nearest troopers from serious injury as they pulled back to escape the crumbling industrial zone.

It was a rush for the vehicles because they would provide protection against the explosions, but even with the General providing a force shield, there was some considerable injuries being dragged on board, especially from those who were still within the buildings when the string of explosions started.

They were counting off the squads as they climbed on board the transports and the first Juggernaut was already beginning to retreat slowly through the wreckage, clearing a path for the smaller AT-TE's. Ghost landed heavily beside them, having dropped from his vantage point on top of the vehicle. The air was getting too thick with dust and flame to see anything. The first blasts had been explosive but they were followed by an abrupt rain of incendiary bombs and the night sky was lit by the amber flames. The medic had blood on his armour from pulling the injured on board but he didn't seem to notice. "How are we doing, sir?"

Wolffe stood stiff, still not ready to get in to the transport. He was staring across the square towards the general direction of the enemy. "The sniper's not come in yet." He always resorted to emotionless monologue when he was stressed and his brothers could see past the abruptness of the statement. "Can't get through to him at all, no comm connection."

Ghost froze, following the commander's line of sight. He'd been up on top and seen just how bad the destruction was in that direction._ Maybe I shouldn't have let him go back out. _Without another word he took off in the direction of the structure he'd seen collapse, praying that somehow he was wrong. He heard both the commander and the general shout him back but he ignored them. He knew his job as a medic; he couldn't turn away and leave a brother behind.

His prayers hadn't been answered. The three storey building that the sniper had been set up in was in a state of semi-collapse. The structural steel superstructure didn't cope well with the heat of fire and the warping of the support beams had brought down the duracrete floors. This was a structural design fault which allowed the cast slabs to fall under this torsional deflection because there was no shear connection between the elements. It seemed simple, but these were buildings thrown up quickly to serve a purpose – housing for the less affluent members of the community. They were minimal cost structures.

Ghost pushed the door open and glanced around carefully, giving his chances of safety a check but knowing he would go forward anyway. He headed for the rubble and began to tear his way through, trying to haul away chunks of duracrete in search of any hint of that deep grey patterned armour. The more he moved, the more frantic he became and he was oblivious of the white hot pain in his shoulder. It was a minor irritation when every chunk moved could be the one that revealed his squad-mate. He suddenly felt himself being pulled back with care and he struggled against it, not wanting to be stopped.

Wolffe pulled the medic back with care, feeling the General at his side in the darkness. "Steady, ner vod'ika, steady." He didn't know what to do but wrapped his arms around his shoulders, holding him still for a few seconds; long enough for the medic to take few steadying breaths. He turned to the Jedi. "Can you feel him?" He could see the Kel Dor in the glow of his infrared visor setting and realised that he was focusing.

He kept his grip on the medic, feeling the tension thrumming in the younger man – the need to be moving to rescue others. It was a strange feeling to stand idle for even moments in this smokey, flaming building. The natural instinct screamed out at them to move, but he trusted the Jedi. "I think we've found a name for Nine-Six…Jaro."

Ghost shuddered, the irony not lost on him. _Jaro...the mandalorian term for 'deathwish'; it was painfully true_. The sniper hadn't pulled back when the instruction was given. That was a truly suicidal move when the buildings were coming down like packs of cards.

"He's alive, I can feel him."

That was enough to send Ghost in to movement again, pulling away from his commander to continue digging through the rubble. Wolffe joined him and, with Koon's instruction, they were finally able to unearth a limb. Without the Jedi they would have had no idea of where to dig and it was only with his force assistance that they were able to finally shift the heavier chunks of rubble away from their brother and free the body from the wreckage.

* * *

The creaking of the building had been terrifying but Nine-Six lay in his nest, watching down the scope of the rifle for anything that may be advancing on his fleeing brothers. He wasn't going to be joining them, but he could see that they got away safely.

As he listened to the cracking noises all around him, all he could think was how clever it was to have laid these seemingly invisible explosives, all rigged up to take out the insurgents. He didn't mind giving credit to the enemy when it was earned. He would take out any Sep who fell in to his rifle's sights, in return for every brother that had been injured in the explosions. He had heard the comm chatter and the panic, but there was nothing he could do to help. He was best where he was, shooting at anything that dared raise its head. The rifle could hit targets up to a distance of 1.5 kilometres and he had dropped body after body without them being able to get a location on him.

_He'd done his duty._

_Nobody could ever claim he'd been a coward._

_He'd earned his longed for reunion._

* * *

**_Aw, Jaro...Jaro, he finally gets his name. ~ Atin_**


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

Ghost was the first to clamber in to the void where the sniper had become trapped. It was only due to this good fortune that he hadn't been crushed as the floors collapsed.

A deep, twisted steel beam had deflected the falling debris and creating a small pocket around the injured man, but the fire was still raging around them and the heat was almost unbearable. He automatically raised his hands as if to fend off the heat waves, feeling sweat running down his back even with the armours environmental controls.

The thick smoke was okay with the helmet and filters, but the General had his robe pulled up around his face and even then he was having to retreat out in to the street to be able to breathe.

Wolffe moved in beside the medic, trying to get in close enough to work but the heat was just phenomenal. "Fek, we need to pull him out to where we can work!" He was shouting over the roaring fire despite having comm connection with his brother.

"No!" Ghost's reply was abrupt because he was desperately trying to come up with a plan. He knew that if they were sweating and dehydrating, they needed to get the sniper out because he would be much worse, but they needed to assess his injuries first. "We can't just pull him out. He fell at least six metres, maybe more. He could have spinal trauma."

They felt the brush of the Jedi against their mind, reminding them that they weren't alone. He had moved away from the building to get air and space to concentrate but he didn't want them to think he was leaving them. He would never leave his men behind.

_Hold on, I can help you._

He closed his eyes, focusing his mind and body on the space around them, breaking it down to a molecular level. This was a technique which he hadn't used in a long time. In the intense atmosphere of battle, the ability to create a force shield, and to move objects around were the prime weapons in his arsenal, but he was capable of so much more.

Ghost's mouth hung open in awe as the flames and smoke appeared to be pushed back. The temperature dropped around them to a more tolerable heat and they were able to move forward to their brother, protected by this invisible bubble. It was like nothing he had ever experienced before.

He wanted to stop and admire the way flames and smoke danced against the invisible wall but there was no time. Without the roar of the fire they could hear the sniper crying out in pain, mumbling over and over as if in his own world.

The beam that had protected him from instant death had also smashed the right side of his helmet and pinned him to the rubble, cracking his armour plates with the impact.

_Tap, please, cyar'ika…please…_

Clones didn't have mothers to cry for when they were scared or in pain; they cried for their brothers. He heard it so many times, but it always made Ghost's stomach clench. It was a mark of how terrified the patient was. Clones were extremely stoic, but eventually pain and fear would eat away at that and break them down.

_Tap, help me, please…please…I'm so sorry, please help me through…please Tap…_

Ghost knelt on the floor and gently eased away the sniper's shattered helmet. "Hey, we've got you buddy, it's okay. It's all going to be okay."_Fek, there was so much blood_…_and burns_… "Can you tell me what hurts, vod'ika?" The sniper groaned, coughing on the blood that had run in to his mouth. He was conscious but not responsive to those around him. He was stuck in his own world of terror. Ghost gently pulled back the neck of the sooty, blood stained body suit to feel for his brother's pulse rate. It was hammering under his fingers at a hundred klicks per second, despite the blood loss. "Okay, listen to me, vod'ika, you need to take deep breaths for me. Trust me, okay. We're going to get you out of here. I know you're scared but it'll all be just fine. Wolffe named you…the hard man crumbled a little there. You've got to get well so you can get him back for that, Jaro!"

The sniper moaned, trying to move but he was pinned by the steel. "J…Jaro?"

"Yeah, Jaro…you chakaar." Wolffe was on his knees by their side, trying to keep his grumpy façade up. "We're getting you out of here. You may have a deathwish, but I don't!" He touched Ghost's arm to get his attention. "I've got an idea. I'll be back in a minute."

Ghost nodded, too busy to argue. He took out the scanner, using it to a rudimentary vitals check. His brother was in bad shape. Now that the panic had receded, his heart rate had dropped down to lower than he would want to see; definitely a blood loss going on. He had to have burns down his side where the beams was superheating the armour plates, and probably broken bones. Smoke inhalation and concussion…the list was seemingly endless. "Can you tell me how you're doing – what hurts most?"

The freshly christened Jaro licked his lips, trying to get enough moisture to speak when his tongue felt like he had licked the duracrete dust. "All hurts until my waist." He struggled for the words, gratefully accepting a small sip of water…just enough to wet his mouth. "My legs don't hurt but they feel cold. They tingle…not hurt, but uncomfortable…I don't know…" He was scared. He couldn't attempt to move his legs to see what that was like because the crushing weight of the beam had him pinned down at the hip. His armour was wrecked – completely cracked up down that side – and he had no idea where his rifle had fallen. "Ghost…please, please shoot me, please." _There was no getting out from under here and the more tired he got, the harder it was to breathe. He was being slowly compressed below the beam._

Ghost fought back a swell of nausea at the request. His patients had pleaded for many things but never for him to kill them. Normally an injured trooper pleaded for help so that he could live. "Hey, vod'ika, I'm here to help you. We'll get you out." He had no idea how, but they would. If the General were here, he could maybe lift the beam enough for them to get the sniper out but he was already doing so much to allow them to work.

He squirmed in on his belly to get under the beam by his head so that he could reach around with the scanner to check down his brother's back, looking for any spinal fracture that would be responsible for the altered sensation in his lower limbs. It gave him an idea of just how terrifying it would be to be trapped under here. He could squirm back out again, but it was still a taster of the claustrophobic atmosphere. A glance at the scanner when he was free showed no breaks down the neck or spine. That was good news for getting him out. If there had been a spinal fracture it really would have made getting him out before the building came down pretty much impossible. It took time and space to stabilise an injury like that so he was immensely relieved to see the green screen. "You're good on spinal, vod'ika. We'll find out what's up, but it's not a break. We'll work out how to get you out now." He leapt in shock as Wolffe reappeared, activating the General's lightsaber.

The blue light cast an eerie glow over the swirling dome of smoke around them, creating an otherworldly radiance.

Wolffe motioned for Ghost to help him. "I'm going to cut up the beam and we'll lift it away." He could see the fear in the medic's eyes. "I'll be careful…do you have any better ideas?!" To be honest, he wasn't keen on doing this himself. Wielding the lightsaber felt wrong; this was the weapon of the Jedi and he had no training to be handling something which such raw power, especially to undertake an accurate job like this. _I'll be careful…_

He started at the end furthest from the sniper's body, cutting out manageable sections that Ghost could lift out of the way. It was easy going until he had to cut away the section which was pinning the man down. The beam was in contact with his body and it was going to be a delicate job to cut it through and not injure him further.

Wolffe knelt so that he could cut through and see when he was close. He felt his hands shaking with the effort of guiding the beam accurately, knowing how difficult it was to tell when he was through the beam. He felt the change in resistance but it was already too far and he blanched as his brother cried out in pain. It took all his control to keep his hand steady and raise the blade away before he switched it off, checking as the wound as soon as Ghost removed the steel.

Fortunately the blade had barely penetrated the armour; just enough to burn the exposed flesh on his brother's belly. He found himself struggling. He hated to be responsible for the death and destruction every time he sent his men out on a mission, but to see the direct connection between his action and his brother's pain was so much worse. "Fek, Jaro, I'm sorry." He gave the extensive facial injury a close look, particularly concerned to see an injury over the eye. "Ghost, ner vod, is his eye okay? You know what they're like about injuries like that…"

Ghost slapped his commander hard on the back plate. "Stop! With respect, sir, let me make the decisions." He switched to a private comm. "If we don't get him out now, his eye won't matter. We need to get out before this all comes down on our head. You cut out a key support to free him. We need to move." He nudged past and set his mic to project again. "Hey, Jaro, I'm going to give you something for the pain and then we're going to try to get you up between us. It's a little time critical, vod'ika, but let us do all the work."

He rifled through his medkit for an analgesic. If he had a little longer, he would have administered straight in to a vein because it was more potent and quick acting than a hypospray, but the time difference would be made up in getting plates off and raising a vein. They needed to move minutes ago – there was no time for removing armour plates.

Jaro didn't make a sound as it was pressed to his neck. A small sting was nothing in moments like these; he barely even felt it.

The sound that came from his throat when his brother's helped raise him up from the ground was one that he had never believed he could make, and never wanted to hear again. His legs wouldn't work. He couldn't feel them well enough to get them under himself, they just kept buckling under him. If it weren't for his brothers on either side, he wouldn't be upright at all. Part of him still wished he wasn't.

His whole upper body ached but that was nothing like terrifying sensation from his hips down. He could hardly see for the blood and dirt – he didn't know if it was permanent damage to his right eye or not. Any damage was trouble for him. He needed his 20/20 vision to shoot. All clones needed it – there was no place for a blind brother. That was a Kamino case. _No, please…please don't let them take me to Kamino._

He didn't realise but he must have said at least part of that thought aloud because Ghost turned to him, getting a better grip on the edges of his armour. "You're not going anywhere near Kamino, I promise you that."_ He didn't like to make those sorts of promises but it was his job to keep the patient well – and keeping them calm was part of that._

Wolffe leant down to grab the sniper's helmet. It was smashed beyond salvage, but the bucket was a personal thing to a vod. For some reason, he couldn't bring himself to leave it behind.

He took his position on Jaro's right, knowing that he had to be gentle because this was the side with the worst damage. Sure enough, when he tried to wrap his arm around him to offer support, the gasp of pain was audible. "Easy, this is just to get you out the building. Hold on." He felt a warm protectiveness that always reared its head when his brothers were injured. _How dare this happen to them. They had life bad enough as it was, without ending up badly injured…scared…it just wasn't fair. _"We've got you…we've got you, vod'ika."

Together they made slow, shuffling progress towards the street.

Jaro was sobbing and the sound tore at Wolffe's heart. He'd been so hard on this brother and seeing him injured made him realise that he really didn't mean any of it. He didn't want a replacement for Sol…whoever was assigned would have got the cold shoulder, but when the sniper had been sent to them; all bold defiance and fierce beauty, it had been too much for him to take. It made him feel like his precious memory of Sol was being replaced by some brother who didn't even want to be there. In the few short conversations they had had over the recent weeks, he had come to realise that the sniper wasn't as brash as he liked to make out. He was another brother hiding a painful story; just like so many others, the war had ripped him apart and expected him to go on as if nothing mattered.

He needed brotherhood, not humiliation and endless ridicule for his failure to adapt.

The blame lay firmly on Wolffe's shoulders. He should have been there to help with the integration, not running away from a memory then taking his anger out on the unfortunate brother who stood in the empty space.

Ghost urged them on faster, supporting the majority of Jaro's weight. The dust filled night air was a godsend, as was the sight of the Jedi and the juggernauts looming in the distance.

As soon as they were a safe distance from the structure, Koon visibly sagged and the building came crashing down with a whoosh of superheated air and dust, forcing all four of them down to the floor.

Jaro cried out, as did Ghost. His aching shoulder was getting too much to put aside as an inconvenience. It was torn ligaments at least, but he wouldn't know until he had time to check himself in the medical…and that wouldn't be until he had completed his duty with Jaro.

He tried to help take the sniper's weight again but it was like white hot fire through his muscles and it must have shown in his body language because Wolffe took his place, leaving no room for argument.

"Help the General. I'll take Jaro."

Koon accepted the assistance, gathering himself together. It had been a lot of work to hold that control for so long. "I'm fine, son. Let's get back to the vehicles, before anything else drops on us."

Ghost stayed by his side while Wolffe lifted Jaro with care. He'd never seen such a feat, even from a Jedi and he was eternally grateful. Without the help, he would have been forced to abandon his patient. "Sir, what did you do? That wasn't a force shield."

Koon smiled as they picked up pace through the streets back towards the rest of the men. "A special little interest of mine involving physics. It was control of the environment. Not something I usually do but it let me lower the temperature around you and keep the molecular strength of those remaining steel beams." He felt the exhaustion in his mind and body, but it had been worth it. "I feel this is a good use of the Force, when it can be used to help people. Then it is a gift I am proud to hold."

Mica and Boost were waiting to help them up in to the juggernaut. All the other vehicles had moved off, as instructed, heading for the desert outside of the city walls.

The vehicles were the most welcoming sight. Safety within the armoured belly, although there was such a crush of bodies in the crew compartment that it was difficult to move and the med room was full. One of the junior medics was doing his best to keep some sort of control but it was hard for a rookie to deal with this type of scenario alone. He looked over his shoulder as he saw Ghost, obviously hoping for help. "Ghost, I'm so glad you're back. I need your help…"

"You'll need to keep doing what you're doing, vod'ika. I've got a critical here." Ghost grabbed Mica's arm. Although a relative rookie himself, the Wolfpack trooper was good at commanding attention and taking control_. He would make a good sergeant when he had more experience. _"You're in charge of keeping that medroom under control so Fly can work, okay? Good lad."

Wolffe had found the only space he could to lay down the injured sniper; his own office space in the vehicle. There was no furniture, just walls of tactical displays, but the small space was enough to work in and more importantly, it was free of others.

He found Sinker nearby and waved him over. "Comm Captain Akki. He took control of the rest of the troops. Tell him to pull back to RV gamma and call in evac for when we arrive. Tell him we have a time critical case…"

Sinker had looked over his shoulder to where Jaro lay. "Will he be okay?" He felt his stomach tighten at the thought of losing the brother. "He's been doing better…I…."

Wolffe laid a hand on his shoulder for a moment. "I don't know, but we'll do our best for him. We always do."

* * *

_**Wow, a long one, but an important one too. Trying to do everyone justice here - particularly Plo Koon and what he does to help his men. He has interesting skills and his knowledge of physics and ability to influence the environment are particularly captivating to the engineer in me...could he influence the molecular structure of the steel to prevent the deflection under heat? - who knows, but I think it fits with his known skills well. Steel is terrible in fire - it loses its strength and often that is what causes failure - that's why you see steel covered in paint...it increases the time it can stand in fire. That's why your emergency routes are all concrete! I loved writing this chapter because of the little cross over of interest. The structural engineer and writer in me meet. I am an unashamed structures nerd - it's not very feminine - I'm the only lady on this postgrad but who cares - we can't all be pretty and perfect. I may not know one end of a make-up brush from the other, but I can tell you if your building will stand - and I can even do a little tentative seismic design now as well. Unfortunately, blast damage is not something I have learned about - its not part of the course, sadly. There's a limit to what we can learn in a 12 month course and we're covering innovative materials and earthquakes - but not the impact of blast damage, so that part is very much educated guess. **__**Trying to keep it as realistic as possible - I always do - hopefully it came across that way. This was part two of the extraction - the more exciting bit! It certainly was to write! ~ engineer, Jen...Atin will be back next chapter! :P**_


	16. Chapter 16

Chapter 16

Ghost had laid out his medkit and bellowed at Mica to bring his advanced kit as well. With the Commander's assistance, he managed to remove all the armour plates, taking great care where they were obviously shattered and burned. The bodysuit took more effort; needing to be peeled away from the flesh where it had been melted in contact with the steel.

The hastily administered analgesic wasn't enough to take away this degree of pain and Jaro was writhing under the touch.

"Steady, vod'ika. I'm going to give you something powerful in a moment." Ghost took his arm and began to clean away the dirt and blood so that he could fit an IV cannula. This would make it easier to administer drugs quickly and would hopefully see a better level of pain regulation. He had stripped away his own upper armour and filthy body glove, and ordered Wolffe to do the same, but it was still far from a hygienic zone and he wanted to get the burns dressed before they got infected.

The General was standing in the doorway creating a shield to give them some privacy to work. He was ready to offer assistance if they needed an extra pair of hands, but he was taking the opportunity to rest and attempt a little light mediation; gathering the Force back like collecting thousands of scattered points of light.

It had really taken it out of him but he had no intention of settling down to rest while his men were still in danger. In moments like this he wished he were capable of force healing. It was a precious gift and not one he had ever been fortunate enough to develop. He could care for his men as best he could in any other way, but he couldn't make them well.

He did his best to send calming waves towards the trio in the room. Each had stress levels that where through the roof. Ghost was racing on the river of adrenaline that always got him through these events, Wolffe was out of his depth playing medic's assistant, and Jaro was terrified. He glanced over his shoulder, feeling Mica and Rhen hovering in the hall. They obviously wanted to be in their helping. They both leapt when Ghost called for assistance. Jaro may have felt that he didn't have brothers anymore, but it was quite clear that there were people who cared for him. Plo stood aside to let the two troopers in, then resumed his stance in the doorway. It made no difference – there was no body shame amongst the men, he'd seen them on campaign; they had no problem with being crammed in with no privacy and no space – but this was different to the fresher block or the changing room…he felt that Jaro should be kept from the view of the masses while he lay vulnerable like this. There wasn't any spare blankets to drape over him, and with the extensive injuries it would really just get in the way, but he still found himself looking at this from a much more civilian view where the medics took care of your modesty as well as your injuries. Clone medics didn't bother which these details. They focused on caring for their brother's wellbeing. In the medbay, there would be a blanket to hand, and when it was needed, any free items would be used to warm a patient in place of a blanket, but they didn't concern themselves with any shame of nakedness.

Mica was down beside the medic in an instant but Rhen was slower, more cautious as if scared of doing something wrong. "What do you need, Ghost?" He was a promising young trooper, constantly on the lookout for anything he could do to be of help.

Ghost marshalled his three assistants, giving them guidance of how to roll Jaro on to his side and keep him there with minimal trauma so that he could find the source of the back pain. "Keep his back straight and don't lower him until I say so."

Rhen was the one supporting Jaro's torso as they moved him – with Wolffe at the head and Mica at the legs – and he had to steel himself against the cry of pain. They were gripping the injured right side rather than rolling all his bodyweight on to that side, but it was still painful enough for the sniper to make all sorts of terrible sounds.

Rhen hated the medbay – he even found himself trying to avoid the medics – because all of it reminded him of losing his brother. They were so fresh out of Kamino and Keen had hardly had a chance to live. Some of his Kamino brothers in the Wolfpack felt that the sniper was responsible for the death, but Rhen couldn't hold a grudge like that. It wasn't healthy to traumatise each other like that. They were here to support each other, not make it worse. Accidents happened…all the time. That was bad enough without making a big grudge out of it.

The smell of the bacta and the unwavering control as Ghost as he worked was making his heart hammer. The medic was stripped to the waist and his bare skin was streaked with Jaro's blood. It was kindling horrific memories of Keen's blood-stained body on the floor of the LAAT. Ghost's armour had been covered in blood on that occasion. Every day in battle would see the medic in a state like this. His armour seemed permanently stained red.

When they were back on the flagship, Rhen sometimes found himself struggling to look at Ghost without seeing the blood, even when the brother was standing in clean fatigues or polished armour; Rhen associated him with death.

"Rhen…breathe…" Mica had noticed his brother starting to panic. It was maybe a mistake to allow him to get involved in something like this but the kid had been so concerned and desperate to help. Jaro had saved his life mere hours before and that wasn't something you easily forgot.

Wolffe knelt tensely by the sniper's head, supporting him so that his neck stayed perfectly aligned with the rest of his spine. He was feeling the tension, but his young trooper was visibly going to pieces. "Rhen, focus. Take deep breaths." There was nothing he could do but keep instructing him, forcing him to do what was needed. "Don't move him. You have a job to do, don't him down." He knew he was growling when that was the last thing needed, but he was worried about everything going on. He knew he could hand over the retreat to Sinker and Akki, but he was out of his element here. He would always help the medic if needed, but he was the least likely to be called because he had so many other responsibilities. The last time he'd been so involved in medical care was with Sol.

Ghost was trying to ignore what was going on – as long as Mica and Wolffe could keep the young vod calm – he didn't have time to do anything but work on his own task. He had worked his way down and found the most tender spot around the small of the back – Jaro had made it clear that this point hurt, letting loose a string of garbled expletives and gripping Wolffe's forearm so tight that his fingers would leave bruises.

There wasn't a lot he could do when there was no broken bones to treat, but he needed to do something if this injury was affecting the sensation to the lower body. He had a tube of gel which helped cool the skin and he was hoping to prevent anymore swelling from building up by applying this down the back.

The cold sensation made Jaro jerk, but it was going to feel very good when it started to soak in to the flesh. "Okay, you can lower him back again…slowly, gently."

Rhen was paler than even Jaro by the time he was finally in a position to remove his hands. His skin had a clammy appearance and he swallowed hard.

Wolffe still had his hands on Jaro, stroking his hair without seeming to realise he was doing so and rubbing his shoulder with the free hand. He was still paying enough attention to read the young trooper's body language. "Breathe, Rhen, you're going to hurl." It wasn't a question. He'd seen the same reaction in many others. Not every brother had the stomach to deal with the medbay. "Mica…"

"I've got him, sir." Mica took Rhen's shoulders and led him back in to the hall, pulling his canteen from his belt and offering him a sip. "Don't guzzle it or you _will _lose your rations." He watched over him with care until he had managed a few tentative swallows of liquid and managed not to paint the walls. "Well done, vod'ika. You did well. He'd be proud of how you performed under pressure. It's okay to be scared…it's how you cope with the fear."

It was the best bit of advice he could think of. Everyone in that room had been scared, even the commander. The shiny may not have noticed that, but it was clear to anyone who knew the usual dynamics of the squad.

_There's no shame in fear._

* * *

_**A little revisit to Rhen, and the topic of fear, because fear and the reaction to that will be pretty relevant as the story goes on. Everyone gets scared...from a shiny right up to our brave Commander. ~ Atin**_


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

The seemingly safe haven of the juggernaut rocked violently as a rocket landed somewhere near, the shockwave strong enough to sway the massive vehicle. Wolffe growled his frustration, picking himself up from where he had been thrown against the wall of his small office. "What the fek was that?"

Ghost didn't pay him any heed, knowing it was a rhetorical question. They must be nearly outside of the city now, but the attacks didn't let up. He was up to his elbows in blood, bacta and vomit, and had no illusions of that letting up at all. He had both hands occupied trying to clean unidentifiable muck out of the deep, oozing saber burn. His shoulder ached something chronic and he had allowed himself a few tentative thoughts about what the injury could be. As soon as he had a chance to stand still he'd get someone to slap some bacta on it because he was starting to stiffen up, but right now he didn't have time to stop. "Wolffe!" He barked the warning louder than the Commander's own growl. Any of the easy going, passive nature that usually swirled through his body disappeared when faced with a medical emergency. It was a mark of a good medic; he could switch off to everything but his job, even breaking down the command barriers with ease. He outranked everyone else in medical - even the Commander – and he wasn't scared to remind him.

Wolffe reacted like anyone brother under command, sliding the pan in and carefully turning Jaro's head as he retched and coughed up more bile. "Can't you give him something?" All medics had something up there sleeve for the inevitable post injury nausea – especially when administering these powerful painkillers which were generally pretty horrible on the stomach. _Wolffe could remember puking his guts up on the flight home from Khorm, but at least he couldn't remember the pain_. He'd refused anything other than pain relief; some lost part of him believing that he deserved to suffer for letting his guard down.

"If you can't concentrate then get Comet and get out." Ghost wasn't angry, just matter of fact and tense. He didn't have time for being nice. "You're either in command or helping me."

"No…" Jaro's voice didn't sound like his own; distant and tight._ Too many drugs already if he couldn't think straight_. It had taken him too long to marshal his argument. He didn't like being under the influence of meds. He wasn't sure what he was saying no to; Wolffe leaving or the anti-emetic.

"Jare'la ori'ramikad." It was murmured so softly that Ghost didn't hear it, but Jaro did.

He didn't know if it was meant to be a compliment or not but he blinked hard to stare up at his commander. The man was stripped of his upper armour and streaked with Jaro's blood. He looked good without the harsh, unyielding command persona in place.

_Would be nice to see him smile._

_Whoa, where did that come from? Definitely too many meds. No more._

He closed his eyes again and tried to think of something other than the stabbing pain as Ghost dabbed and mopped at the burn. The drugs were good, but not quite good enough to soothe the peaks of pain. They took away the ever present ache well enough though. He tried not to think about his legs. He didn't know if he could feel them or not. He didn't think so but Ghost hadn't let him dwell on it once they had ascertained the damage. _Damn medic. Damn good medic_. Not that Jaro had much experience of them. He'd come through life on a wing and a prayer and made it safe up until this point. _Wouldn't have got this if he'd been sensible, either. _He was so sure that Tap would be waiting for him but engineering your own death obviously wasn't good enough…he'd cried and cried for his brother, and got nothing but pain and rising panic in return. When he was pulled free he had realised that he'd been blessed and given a chance to do right. He would see Tap again, but only when it was his time to.

A second blast rocked the juggernaut violently. Ghost gave Wolffe a look which permitted him to leave – _asked him to leave_ – the trooper in the medic surfaced enough in the fear of the moment to realise that he wanted Wolffe back where he performed best. There was no point putting Jaro together if they got blasted to bits in the escape. "Just shout at Comet to come and help." _He was a good assistant; friendly and calm under pressure._

Wolffe moved to stand up but felt Jaro grab his wrist in a tight enough grip to force him swallow a squawk of surprise. He lowered his arm again, allowing it to be tugged down and held against the sniper's chest. He could have pulled free but there was a desperation in the grasp that made him hold steady for now. Had it been anyone else, he would have instantly offered words of comfort, but he still didn't know where he stood with the man._ One minute they were friendly yet the next, they were spitting fire at each other_. At a loss of what to say, he tentatively ruffled a hand through the sniper's hair, stopping when he winced, forgetting that every inch must ache after a fall like that. Instead he moved his hand down and stroked his jaw, feeling the rasp of stubble. None of them had had time to shave for a good thirty six hours and it was a shadow on every face he looked at. He kept his touch well away from the horrific cuts that ran sporadically from his right temple down to his throat. He was going to have a scar that out did Wolffe. _Hopefully he would get to keep the eye because they wouldn't always consider a cybernetic for a regular trooper._

The moment was broken by Comet appearing in the doorway. The General had left earlier to go up to the cockpit, leaving the three alone. "Sir, we lost an Enforcer…" It wasn't a straight out request for him to return to his command position, but it was hard for any of them to watch the more vulnerable AT-TEs fall.

Wolffe looked up, still squatting in indecision beside Jaro. "Survivors?"

Comet's gaze dropped briefly. "No, sir."

There was a few seconds of silence apart from Jaro's heavy breathing then Wolffe took control.

"Comet, come here and help Ghost."

He gently pried his wrist free and put Comet's in its place. His brother was so much better at this than he was and instantly settled down, taking Jaro's hand in his own and making comforting noises while Ghost got on with the nasty job.

He reached for his armour and bodysuit, hastily redressing. If he were to turn up in the cockpit topless and covered in blood he may be more of a distraction than assistance. Despite the barrage of attack, he felt more confident standing up front and taking control. He could still feel Jaro's eyes on him as he left, already planning their escape.

"Be ready, we're going out as fast as that 'TE can move." It was a warning to expected rapid acceleration and a potentially bumpy ride, but it would get them out of range quickly.

_It wasn't much – neither tank were designed for speed – but knowing when to bang out fast was as important as any brave attack. _

* * *

**_A short descriptor: _**

**_Jare'la ori'ramikad; jare'la comes from the term jaro and means 'stupidly oblivious of danger/having a death wish/suicidal' and ori'ramikad means super-commando - a Mandalorian elite special-forces commando. It's a confusing phrase for a listener because it isn't clear whether Wolffe is putting the emphasis on Jaro's skills or whether the emphasis is on the jare'la. I imagine even Wolffe doesn't know quite how he meant it. His feelings on the matter confuse even himself. It was just spoken from the heart in a moment where his mouth opened before his mind caught up._**

**_Maybe if I have to describe that to you readers, I've failed as a writer, but I hoped to use the nuances of the language to give the open nature of the phrase. Unfortunately, using a non existent language in the hope of creating a subtle character development may not be the best way, but I love the use of Mandalorian with the clones ~ I see it as their own outlet. They swear in Mandalorian and it's a private language they can converse in without outsiders listening in, so I imagine it is the language they would slip in to for unguarded comments like this. (I am aware I am pushing outside of extents of what the regular clones would know of the language, but it's artistic license and I think they would have a sense of their 'heritage' even if isn't anything like as strong as the Commandos. _**

**_I'm fed up arguing about Star Wars EU - the pleasure in writing is taking everything, gathering it up and knitting it together - I don't care if a clone is EU and therefore 'no longer exists'. Or if concept is now Legend. I don't want to see them turned in to some blank and dull body into which you cram your tumblr social justice. There is so much to be enjoyed by keeping the EU and all its eccentricities. _**

**_###_**

**_Stress and coursework are building up. Writing is slowing down. But it's giving me time to think this one out carefully. _**

**_No more chapters until I get the current mound of coursework under control. That could be a few days, or it could be a week. This time next week it'll be submitted and I'll be back with more story - hopefully - but my streak of getting nearly a chapter every day is over!_**

**_~ Atin_**


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

Wolffe was utterly shocked to find himself pushing his way towards the source of commotion and finding Ghost at the centre of it all. The usually quiet medic stood in the bustling hold of the LAAT gunship as it sat on the sand, one of Jaro's hand blasters pointing straight at the dome of the on-board med droid. He stood defensively, as if expecting a fight despite the droid regarding him with its normal emotionless demeanour. His chest was heaving as if he'd run a 30 klick race. He was placing himself between the droid and the repulsor gurney bearing their injured sniper.

He was flanked by Mica, Jet and Comet; all guarding their brother from this seemingly benign individual.

Wolffe stepped up carefully, touching Ghost's shoulder and attempting to turn him. He didn't want to spook him in the firing…not that the tinny couldn't be replaced, but they needed it to assist with the care of the injured men. His attempt to move him was useless; the medic was so tense it was like trying to move duracrete.

"You will not lay a finger on him, tinny, he's my fekkin' patient!" Ghost growled, his voice low and threatening – a side you rarely saw. He had one hand placed protectively on the gurney, marking his territory, but he seemed completely unaware of his commander by his shoulder. "…my fekkin' patient!"

"Private, it is my job to ascertain the viability of the unit." The med droid didn't argue with passion – it had no attachment or emotion – but it was refusing to ignore its duty no matter how much trouble it got. "A spinal trauma is rarely viable. Our attention is best focussed –"

Wolffe had to act quickly, genuinely concerned that Ghost would forget – or overlook – the regulations. He stepped forward and stood between them, facing his medic. "Easy, ner vod, give me the deece and we'll talk this over – form a plan." Ghost handed over the weapon but he still looked unsure so Wolffe continued. "Mica and Jet will stand guard while you're away. The med droid won't lay a finger on Jaro without my say so." He looked up to make sure his point was heard by all parties.

Ghost accepted this with visible trepidation, following the commander out to a quiet spot behind the idling larty's. He waited until the came to a halt before speaking, but only just. "Sir, I can't hand him over to the med droid. They'll send him to Kamino with a spinal like that." He kept glancing back over his shoulder as if to ensure that the laat wasn't taking off yet. "I think I can help him."

The medic look so terrified, strung along on his own memories of repeated threats of termination, all because he had the mutation which gave him his white-blonde hair and striking blue eyes. The Kaminoans didn't accept anything that deviated from the norm; completely infatuated with perfection in every aspect of their existence, and to them, Ghost represented gross failure. He didn't meet the standard template and his eyes – the colour of the Kaminoan under-caste – sealed his fate. If something like that had gone wrong then they assumed there could be other faults with the product. He had been tested at every level, hauled away from his squad and tormented with threats at every stage. If he didn't meet suitable benchmarks he would be terminated, but they never told him what those benchmarks were.

_He grew up in constant fear._

_The Kaminoans felt they were being merciful. _

Wolffe took pity on his brother, dragging him out of sight behind the laat and pulling him in to a tight embrace. Ghost was a solid member of his pack but also prone to allowing his past more control than it deserved. _He was glad that the medic had been assigned to the Wolfpack under Plo Koon. Many Jedi pushed their men too hard and saw them too much like disposable units – even if they argued that they didn't. He had a feeling that Ghost wouldn't have done so well under those conditions. He was part of the first group to refill the Wolfpack ranks after then trauma of the Triumphant. It was a hard first posting but he had thrived both as a trooper and as a medic, soon joining Wolffe's top squad. He deserved that._

"You're not on Kamino anymore, Ghost, and neither will Jaro be. Not unless it is the kindest move for him. If his quality of life is so poor that he is suffering, we will let him go, and his body may be returned to Kamino for processing, but not unless it has to happen."

Ghost accepted the affection, comforted by the clack of armour plates which said he was safe; graduated and successful, and no longer under Kaminoan control. It cleared his mind and allowed him to think. He pulled away reluctantly. "Sir, the med-droid will place him in bacta but I've been reading about treatment methods employed by those without time constraints." He wanted to say 'normal' but that branded clones as being abnormal so he stuck with the long winded terminology. "It shows that healing an unbroken spinal trauma promptly with bacta immersion actually slows the recovery period. The bod doesn't adjust that quickly and it struggles to put the receptors together. So a patient can appear to have irreparable damage when really the body has been left behind by the speed of the bacta healing. If there is no break the body responds best to gradual healing at a more natural pace. It allows the connectors to reform quicker than bacta submersion."

Wolffe watched him, thinking over what was being said. It did make a degree of sense when laid out like that – he could appreciate the idea that there was more to healing a paralysis that just fixing the trauma. He was no medic, but his own sight had been saved by Sol's extra-curricular reading so he was willing to listen to anything the medics presented. They were out to care for their brothers where as the standard procedure was all about productivity. The Republic didn't want its troopers spending long periods convalescing, especially if there was a risk they may not recover well enough to fight. It was a waste of resources for them, but it was life or death for the man lying in the bed. Ghost was generally very humble about his skills so for him to be pushing forward an alternative plan of treatment showed it was important. That was enough to push aside any concerns Wolffe may have had for getting this past the officials. General Plo always supported the individual men. If Jaro could get back on his feet by being given the kind of treatment that any normal man would be given, then that's what they'd do. There was no reason for anyone else to get involved. If General Plo was on board – and Wolffe felt he knew him well enough to be able to say for sure – then everything was okay.

"Okay, I'm going to sign you off as medic in charge of Jaro. Nobody else can touch him or make decisions on his treatment. You will go back with him now and take 100% control of his treatment."

It was as if a lead weight had been raised from Ghost's shoulders. He was being given the chance to make the difference. That was all a medic every wanted to do. It was soul destroying to lose brothers that could be saved just because the GAR had a med manual based on productivity and viability of soldiers. "I can get him back on his feet, Wolffe, I know I can. He just needs to rest and let the swelling go down and get the connectors firing again naturally. Every part of his body needs to heal together." He ducked his head, staring down at the baking sandy ground. "If he goes in to the normal procedure he will be red carded. I've seen it so many times." He looked suddenly guilty, shifting his weight from foot to foot. "It's not favouritism, sir…he just feels like he's finally fitting in and he has done so much to protect the rest of us over the last few weeks. He's suicidally brave, he really is. I don't want him to be suicidal. I want him to feel like he belongs, and I'm not letting the long necks put him down like some animal."

Wolffe reached out to squeeze his shoulder, knowing that it wouldn't be felt through the armour but it was a gesture of comfort. "It's okay, I understand." It his own turn to feel the rising guilt now. "I know I've pushed him more than I should of because I was comparing him to Sol. That wasn't fair. It wasn't professional. But he is a special guy…an important member to the pack…"

Ghost's attention lifted at his commander's tone. There was a flicker of something there that he hadn't heard since Sol's untimely removal from the battalion. Maybe he was imagining it…but now wasn't the time to really think about it. He wanted to get back in there and keep the med droid from getting his manipulators on the sniper.

He had it planned. He'd been thinking about it all the way to the RV point while administering first aid. It would work – he knew it would. It did for normal people.

It was about time a clone got some fair treatment. _Maybe it could pave the way for the Wolfpack medbay stepping beyond the standard regs if it could be proven correct. _Even if it didn't reach this point, it was still going to be a chance for Jaro, and the sniper definitely deserved that.

* * *

_**A sneaky little chapter between courseworks - I awarded myself a night off, and of course that meant writing something. Getting withdrawals when I give myself self imposed bans! I suppose that's a good sign - got to love what you're doing. I just love the irony of finishing a slog of coursework, submitting the dreaded report and then racing back to write more...just my own choice of writing this time! ~ Atin**_


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

The medbay was getting hectic and it was all Ghost could do to keep himself out of the way. Conditions planet-side where getting rough and the various fleet ships had seen an influx of wounded and sick men. Around thirty percent of the 104th Battalion where out of action now but the Republic were determinedly hanging in. Those in charge didn't seem to care that the loss of the siege could also mean to loss of the entire 104th if they didn't take some sensible actions, or bring in some reinforcements.

It wasn't so much the attacking force which seemed to be giving the problems. Only around twenty percent of those bring brought back where due to injuries. Most men were suffering from the conditions. The planet was arid and the troops were going through fluids quicker than they could be sourced. The flora and fauna weren't friendly either. He'd treated so many men with allergic reactions to unknown sources and despite checking them over from head to toe he could find no source. The best guess made in haste was that it had to be something in the water. So now they were having to send water down with every gunship, trying to keep up with the demand.

There were men in the medbay with severe dehydration and illness picked up on the planet. Usually illness would hit the troops on new planets, it was part and parcel of any lengthy occupation. It was treated as any sickness on-board the ship would be and with appropriate fluid replacement, it was rarely a huge issue. It was part of the medics' skillset. But without a reliable source of fluid, it had become a bigger problem. He wasn't doing any treatment on these sick brothers because he didn't want to risk passing it on the his own patient, Jaro, but he had done is duty with the injured, leaving the rest to the medics on duty. Technically, he wasn't in an active role in the medbay; he was on his own special assignment to care for Jaro, but he couldn't watch men wait in pain when he could help them.

He'd just finished transferring an injured pilot to bacta, showered and dragged himself back to the side room where he was treating the sniper.

Jaro was increasingly bad tempered about being trapped in bed 24/7. He did trust Ghost, but it was hard to accept being told to just rest easy when he'd normally be put in a tank for a quick fix. His back hurt and his legs felt horrendous. Sometimes they were numb and achey, sometimes he couldn't feel them at all...and other times they were agony. He'd screamed and screamed for Ghost to cut them off when they nerves had started to play up. They felt like they were encased in burning fuel but he also couldn't entirely connect with them. It was as distressing as it was painful and he must have woke the entire medbay with his screaming because, when the painkillers failed to make a difference, he had been sedated.

That hadn't helped much. He had still felt the pain but it just meant he couldn't make it known. He had tossed and writhed all night, keeping his minder up with him. His rapid metabolism and panic had worked through the drugs at a rapid pace and he fallen in to an exhausted rest, allowing Ghost to take some time to help in the medbay.

For now, the pain was intermittent and relatively mild, and Ghost's return was welcomed. It was lonely to be left while he worked elsewhere. The medic had taken to sleeping in the room as well because the barracks were empty and it was nice to stick together. They were getting to know each other more...when Jaro wasn't screaming bloody murder at him! Fortunately Ghost had an seemingly endlessly patient nature and took the abuse with no complaint, knowing that there would be an apology when the meds kicked in and took the edge off.

"You look done in." Jaro turned his head carefully to give his brother a critical once over. "You've been taking on to much." The medic had terrible dark marks under his eyes and he had a shadow of stubble - although not as noticeable as it was on the dark haired clones.

Ghost came over to sit in the chair by the bed, yawning sleepily. He _had_ been up too long but there was always another job waiting to be done. "Life of a clone, hmm?" There was never enough hours in the day. He took a few minutes rest then shoved back to his feet. "Let's get you checked over then maybe we can get a little sleep before the next occurrence."

Jaro gave a resigned sigh. He was completely and utterly fed up of being helpless. His brother was an extremely attentive medic and he couldn't complain about his standard of care, but there was personal and then there was...personal. He looked away towards the far corner as Ghost went about the routine of checking the catheter. It was being refreshed every day, but fortunately the pre-bed check was just to make sure all was good. That, at least, made it more brief. He still flinched when he was touched, the sensation odd and altered just as everything from his lower back down was. "Can't you just take that _thing_ out?" He turned his head to look down at Ghost, trying to associate the touch his body was feeling with the actual touch. _It was still not quite connecting right, but at least it was there. It was better than feeling that his body came to an unnatural end. _

Ghost gave him an exasperated glance. They'd had this argument ever time he checked it. Nobody liked them, but Jaro's patience had ended as soon as he started to regain some sensation. It was becoming a daily verbal battle. "Not until you regain _proper_ feeling. You can't even move your legs yet." He finished up and washed him down with an antiseptic. It was a high infection risk but there was no way round it when there was a spinal injury like this. He'd be as glad as Jaro when he could remove it and take away the worry. "Just ignore it."

"But I can feel now. It's not very dignified. I can tell you when I need to..."

"Jaro!" Ghost snapped. He didn't often lose his temper but it was happening too often lately. The thoughts of Kamino hadn't helped and he was still climbing back up to his mental branch. The incessant arguments were wearing him down. "Do you think it'll be more dignified when I have to clean you up because you've not realised you've pissed yourself? Hmm?! Do you think having to do that several times a day would be better than having me discreetly check a catheter?" He could see that his outburst had shocked the sniper in to silence, but he couldn't stop the rant now that it had started. "Don't you realise that I have seen quite literally hundreds of different men as I do my job? Do you think you're different, because I can promise you, every single brother I have treated has been the same. If I were a normal medic, I would trying to placate you by saying 'I've seen it all before'...but Jaro, I can quite literally promise you 'I've seen it all before, repeatedly, on many individuals'. You are nothing new. I have a job to do and you're not making it any easier!"

Jaro was stunned in to silence. He hadn't expected to be shouted at by someone so mild mannered. He lay still, keeping his eyes down as bacta gel was rubbed over the burns down his side and across his cheek. It stung but he didn't move. He stayed still until Ghost finished his checks and moved over to one of the other beds.

The medic stripped out of his fatigues and climbed in under the blanket, shifting tensely as the silence descended upon them.

He hadn't meant to shout so much. It was all true but it wasn't good bedside manner. Part of him wanted to apologise. But the rest of him wanted the sniper to understand that he was struggling. He wanted his brother to realise that everyone had their problems. Even as a seemingly calm medic, he was capable of losing it every now and again...and it could be something as simple as a brother's misplaced shyness that triggered it. He had handled men every single day of his career. It was his job. He'd seen everything. There was nothing left on, or in, the clone body that could surprised him, so why did brothers have to get so damned antsy? The didn't understand the alternatives...the decisions he had to make for them. Maybe he should have stripped right down and jumped around in his vatting suit...proven to the sniper just how uninteresting their parts were. _Hmph...parts...he was thinking in polite brother mode. He couldn't ever recall a brother using a term so clean as that to refer to them. Bloody stupid men._

He would apologise in the morning. After he'd had a good nights sleep and calmed down a little...and only if Jaro kept quiet during the morning catheter change. If he'd learnt not to argue with the medic, then he deserved an apology...if not, he'd just have to repeat it all over again.

It wasn't usually like this. Knowing that his squad were all in danger on the planet and they were down a medic was eating away at him. _He'd treated Comet for a nasty shrapnel injury and Boost was in among the sick men under the care of the other medics. Force only knows how the rest were doing. And he wasn't there to help._ But he was here to help Jaro. If only the sniper would shut up and take his treatment quietly.

Usually they had a game of cards together before bed...or watched a little holonet...but here they were, laying in the dark ignoring each other. Sulking, for want of a better word. _Fek_...

He'd fix it in the morning.


	20. Chapter 20

Chapter 20

Jaro was awake long before Ghost. He spent so long dozing throughout the day that he found he wasn't capable of sleeping the whole night. All he could do was stare up at the ceiling, contemplating finding something to watch on his datapad but not wanting to wake the medic. He didn't like the tension - the arguments - hanging over them. If he had the use of his legs and wasn't connected up to this hated bed, he would get a cup of caf...maybe some eggs and nerf strips...and bring them back so the medic could have a breakfast in bed. But instead, he had had to stay here, watching the seconds tick by until Ghost woke up. And even then the medic never allowed himself to get breakfast first. He would go through the hated ritual of checking all the IV lines and changing the catheter, by which time they were usually snapping at each other, and then he would go for his breakfast leaving Jaro to cool off in peace.

_He didn't mean it. Neither of them meant it, but tempers were still red hot. _

He turned over to watch his brother sleep. Usually Ghost slept in the next bed along and was close enough for Jaro to reach out and touch, but instead he had retreated to the third bed last night. There was no excuse to wake him up. He had fluid and sustenance via IV and nasogastric tube, and the hideous piping taking charge of waste. He didn't need a wash today, and he could shave himself perfectly well. It was going to be another day of lying here completely useless. He wasn't even permitted real meals until he came off the strong painkillers for the nerve pain because they had made him as sick as an akk when combined with food. Maybe today they could stop that med-drip, let the drugs wear out of his system and he could be sampling a small plate of eggs by the evening...

_It was getting bad when you craved the bland mess meals._

He'd lost track of just how many days they'd been here, but it was around a week. To begin with, the progress had been surprisingly quick; the swelling had reduced and initially the majority of the pain was from the burns, which was manageable with the usual hypo of drugs. But then the nerves had started firing again and with that came bouts of liquid fire in his muscles. No amount of massaging or meds had been able to ease it so Ghost had brought out some of the heavy duty pain relief usually given to those with severe injuries that were untreatable. It was rarely used in the medbay. That had made him sick so there was no this cocktail being fed in to his vein to both treat the pain and combat the side effects...all while he was stuck under 'nil by mouth'. If there was one way to annoy a clone, it was to deny him food. The tube may be providing sustenance, but it didn't feel the same; his mind still wanted to eat something even if his calorie requirement was satisfied. He was dropping weight and muscle mass as well. If he stayed like this too long he'd be a waste.

He lay there in silence, contemplating the recovery period for being off his feet like this. Would he regain full use at all?

_He was scared._

He knew Ghost must know this, but he still felt very alone here. Ghost was with him as a professional…as a medic…but he had always visited his original squad when they were ill or injured. Maybe if the Wolfpack were on the ship they would visit. Maybe not.

Rhen and Mica had been there on the juggeraut. And then Comet.

_Would they visit when they got back?_

_Where they okay?_

He could aww how hard the medics were working. The medbay was full of men. Conditions must be getting pretty bad on the planet.

_What if they didn't come back?_

The commander was still down on the planet – the General was in bacta, much to everyone's distress – but Wolffe was still in command, leading the men against an enemy who had no issues with the local climate and creatures. They were going to be decimated if they didn't pull back.

His silent concerns were interrupted by the sounds of Ghost waking up. The medic rolled stiffly out of bed and stepped in to a fresh pair of fatigues, making his way over to flip the lights on and start his usual morning checks.

He did this diligently every day before taking care of his own needs. "Good morning, vod. How's the pain for you today?"

Jaro shifted his upper body in an attempt to ease the aches which formed purely due to sitting still for too long. "Not bad today, just achey. Could we try stopping that 'drip of misery'? If I can cope with normal dosing, then maybe I could have a little plate of food later?"

Ghost smiled. "Typical clone…always thinking with your stomach!" He checked over each IV and seemed satisfied that everything was working as intended. "I'm happy to try that. We can put it straight back if you find you still need it. Is there anything else you need before I go for breakfast?"

"Can I sit up for a bit?"

Ghost nodded, raising the bed so that the sniper was sitting more or less upright. He would need to shift him to get the position as comfortable as possible, but Jaro couldn't help him much due to his significant injuries to his side, and of course, the complete lack of lower body control. He moved around to the left side and slipped one arm around his brother to grip him as carefully as possible under his right arm, and gripped his left to get more purchase. It was amazing just now much harder it was to help someone move when they couldn't do anything to take the strain.

Jaro tensed, holding his breath to keep from crying out. The shifting pressure on the burns hurt more than his back. Since he hadn't been placed in bacta, they were healing slowly – naturally – under bacta patches, and he was quite glad that he didn't have to look at them for now. They must look terrible. It was bad enough having the look at the glued up slash down his face. He was going to have a scar that started at his hairline and ended at his collarbone. Sure, there were some breaks in it – and some areas weren't as deep as others – but there was going to be no hiding it. Wolffe's scar was very prominent, and this was much more extensive than the Commander's.

He suddenly thought he'd let slip a gasp, but it wasn't him. Ghost had succeeded in dragging him upright but had frozen and gasped sharply, his nails digging in to Jaro's bare skin.

Jaro automatically froze still, waiting to see what had provoked the reaction. "Ghost?" He didn't get any reply but the rushed breath in his ear as the medic gulped in air, his head lowering to press against the sniper's shoulder. He tried to reach to touch him, but his good arm was gripped tightly. "Ghost, what's wrong?"

The medic swore harshly, releasing his grip so that he could grasp his own shoulder tightly. He righted himself slowly and carefully, stepping back to sit down on the other bed but having to lunge for an empty dish when his stomach threatened to revolt. He could feel Jaro's eyes on him as he swallowed rapidly in an attempt to keep everything where it should be. He managed to grab a hypo of pain relief from the tray and injected himself, sitting hunched over until it kicked in.

Pulling his brother upright had tweaked the already painful damage to his shoulder, and he was being given a cruel reminder of why he should listen to his own advice for once. He couldn't go in bacta, but equally, he couldn't keep pushing it until it burned like this.

"…Ghost?"

He managed to react again as the numbing effect of the hypo sunk in, immediately trying to regain his dignity. "I'm okay, Jaro, don't worry."

Jaro didn't look convinced at all. He motioned towards the medic's shirt. "Take it off…let me see." He waited patiently while his brother struggled to remove the item of clothing without causing further pain, but what was revealed made his mouth hang open in surprise. Ghost had applied a bacta patch to the worst point of the shoulder, but the swelling and fantastic bruising spread round the joint and down his pectoral muscle. "Fek, Ghost, have you looked at yourself…" He motioned for him to come closer. "You need to get that dealt with. Properly, not just a half sized patch."

Ghost sifted slowly through the cabinet and pulled out a handful of dressings. "I'll put a fresh one on, but I'm not going in bacta. I can't." He sat down and fumbled for the edge of the existing patch, trying to see what he was doing out the corner of his eye.

Jaro motioned for him to pull the chair in closer. "I'll do it for you, but you need to get another medic to look at it. You can't see it all, vod. It's like that all down your shoulder blade too…it must be agony." He took the bundle on to his lap and started with the cooling gel. The medic startled when he began rubbing it in, even though he tried to be as gentle as possible. "What happened?"

Ghost bit his lip, finding reserves of calm to carry him through the painful treatment. "Pulling steel beams away to get your shebs out when you went all jare'la on us. There wasn't time for regs manual handling. The only reason we got you out was because General Plo can do amazing things with the force…and because Commander Wolffe had the presence of mind to use the lightsaber to cut you free…"

Jaro paused for a second, feeling a swell of guilt. He didn't remember much about the building, although it came to him in nightmares and he no longer knew what was real and what was his mind's fiction, but he did have quite clear memories of the journey back to the RV point, and Ghost had been a staple of those memories. "…and because you are one of the best medics I've ever encountered. And you didn't let them red card me." He swallowed, putting the finishing touches to his crude attempt at bandaging. "…you'll need to get another medic to redress that but it should do until you get some breakfast…"

Ghost wasn't listening to his instruction. He was looking up at him with a tightly controlled emotional gaze. "I would never let them red card you, Jaro. I promise. I don't send people to be butchered by Kaminoans. I know what they're like." His tone took on a haunting edge and he looked away, unwilling to open himself to questions. If he got back on the topic of Kamino, he'd start having the nightmares again, and he couldn't do that. It had taken long enough to stop them. Instead he took Jaro's hand; all sticky with ointment. "I won't let anyone send you to the long necks, verd'ika, regardless of the outcome of this treatment."

* * *

_**A little making up...can't have the grump lasting. In other news, I'm thinking about a new Fett story since the other is in a sort of hiatus state until I get up to speed with the Vong books. It may just be a one-shot...or it may develop in to a proper story...but I want to write more Fett. He was my introduction to loving Star Wars/SW fanfiction. I started writing A Game of Trust before I decided to join FF. It was just a desire to explore Fett more and somehow I decided to share it - first time in around 15 years of writing that I've decided to share my work - and it sparked off this whole thing. I probably wouldn't be writing clones if I hadn't decided to dip my toe back in the water by writing Fett. So I've started a tentative one shot immediately post-exile for him. It may go on to be more. So keep an eye out for that soon. ~ Atin**_


	21. Chapter 21

Chapter 21

Wolffe stepped in to the medbay with a sense of trepidation. They may be back on the ship, but it felt as if the battle were still being waged. The medbay of every ship was full; only those with serious injuries or significant illness and dehydration where being treated within its walls. Everyone else had been sent to convalesce in the barracks. There simply wasn't the space to have everyone under the medics' watch. Those who were well enough to be in the barracks were instructed to look out for each other – not that that needed to be an order, they would always care for their brothers.

It was strange to see the ship on such a skeleton crew. It was eerie. Just like the battlefield – not like the usual safe return. His General was still in bacta and that had been his first port of call as soon as they docked. The medic assured him that all was well but he had to see for himself. Then he had returned to supervise the organisation of men, ensuring that all those who were in need of treatment got it. Everyone was dehydrated, many were ill. It was another battle to fight now. Morale was low.

He stood quietly, watching the bustling activity until he was woken from his dream like state by a soft nudge against his shoulder. He had stopped in front of the doors and it was a very tired looking Ghost who had bumped in to him, carrying a tray from the mess. He reached out to steady the tray and prevent it getting spilt.

"Aw, kriff…sorry, sir."

Wolffe took the tray and stepped back to make some space. "That's okay. Who's this for?" He nodded down at the tray.

Ghost scrubbed a hand through his hair, trying to comb it all back in to position. He looked like he was running on empty. All the medics had this look about them just now. "It's Jaro's supper. It's our agreement. I bring him something tastier than the usual medbay osik as long as he doesn't grump at me when I do horrible things to him."

Wolffe laughed softly, keeping a hold of the tray despite the medic's attempts to take it back. "Can you do me a favour? Mica's holed up alone in the squad room. I tried to talk to him but he sees me too much as Commander Wolffe and won't talk freely. He needs to talk it all through with someone but none of the squad are fit to be released from the medbay yet. I know you're busy here, but he needs it. It's all gone down for him and he's in shock." He paused, chewing on his lip. "Ideally, he'd be in the medbay because psych is just as important as physical check-ups but there's not space."

Ghost felt the black cloud descending again over them. Getting the 104th recalled had been an elating moment because it meant no more wasteful destruction but now there was more trouble to be dealt with. Picking up the pieces and putting men back together. "I'll go to him. Can you take this to Jaro for me?" He didn't want to ask what had happened but they couldn't hide from the inevitable. "Who?"

Wolffe closed his eyes briefly, not wanting to pile the stress on to the medic, but he really was one of the best for talking to those in distress. He had a very approachable demeanour; men would talk to Ghost even if they had clammed up towards others. "Rhen was caught in a booby trap. It blew his leg off but Mica and Jet got to him. There wasn't a medic available but they thought that they might be able to get him back to one." He sighed heavily, seeing it all playing out in his mind and knowing that if it haunted him then it must be burned like acid in Mica's head. "A sniper got Jet before they made it to safety. Rhen was dead by that point as well. Mica made it back unhurt but he really lost it. He's not speaking…he's not eating. I doubt he's sleeping…"

"I'll go to him now." The exhaustion seemed to be pushed aside when another brother needed help. The story was like a lead weight settling in his stomach. Rhen had been so young but such a promising trooper. He was always looking out for others.

And Jet. Jet had been Mica's 'brother by choice'; best friend, shoulder to cry on, support network and possibly even occasional partner, although the latter had never been clear. Regardless, he had been the most important constant in Mica's short life. It was hard to adapt to losing someone, especially for a clone who often had to leave the body to keep moving – to keep alive. There was no chance to mourn until the battle was over.

Wolffe thanked his brother then took the tray though to the small side room. It wasn't usually used for treatment like this, but beds could be moved in to the space. There was now only one because the others had been needed for the ill men coming aboard. A neat pile of bedding in the corner marked where Ghost had been taking short naps.

Jaro looked up, doing a double take when he realised it wasn't the medic. He tried to pull himself in to the closest he could imitate of an attention pose, wincing as it tugged at the shiny healing burns.

Wolffe shook his head and motioned for him to relax. "Neither of us are on duty and I think we can forgo the official protocol for now." He placed the tray carefully on the bedside table. "How are you doing?" He was more relieved than he would have thought possible to see that the sniper was looking so well after such a horrific catalogue of injuries. "Is your eye okay?"

The eye had been his biggest concern as soon as he saw the facial wound. They didn't give cybernetics to non-command clones. If Jaro had lost significant sight, it would have been a death sentence, but the eye didn't look too bad…still bruised, but it tracked perfectly with the left, reacting in a seemingly normal manner.

Jaro relaxed tentatively, still feeling that he shouldn't be slouching here in a superior's presence. Especially since he was drastically in need of a shave. He'd been too tired to bother for the past few days, giving him a 'rough around the edges' look. He ran a hand self-consciously over the stubble, gingerly touching the scarring. "It's good, sir. Amazing considering the cut so close…but I've been lucky." He pointed down towards his own legs. "I'm beginning to get control back, look." He reached down to tug the blanket aside a little. It took a lot of effort but he managed to raise his left knee a few inches, then lowered it and flexed his ankle and toes. The right leg was harder but there was muscle damage and burns to contend with on that side as well, so he wasn't too put out by its lower responses. It was still a lot like pulling strings on a puppet rather than feeling like part of his own body, but it was better than nothing. He inhaled carefully as Wolffe ran a hand over the thigh in an attempt to still the trembling that often started when he exerted the muscles. Ghost did it too but for some reason it felt different under the Commander's hands. It felt good…very good…and he found himself wishing he could move away before he embarrassed himself. The gently massage worked, but it had also spread a warmth to his belly that he was sure would be visible under the meagre blankets. He didn't know whether he was relieved or scared to find that it was still limp and dormant.

Wolffe straightened the blankets back on the bed again and took the plate of food from the tray, handing it to the sniper. "That's really good, Jaro. I'm glad Ghost's idea is working. We don't want to lose you. You're a good brother." He looked down at his hands, twisting around themselves as he realised this was the perfect chance to apologise. "Jaro, I'm sorry for treating you like osik when you joined us. I wasn't thinking straight. I didn't mean to make you feel like you didn't belong…"

Jaro interrupted before he could go on. "It doesn't matter now." He managed a playful smirk. "You named me, after all…you must want to keep me!"

He tucked in to his supper, watching as the commander settled down in the chair beside the bed, closing his eyes in long blinks which seemed to be his way of half sleeping. _When had he last had the chance to sleep, considering the General had been sent back over a week ago? _He kept quiet and watched as the blinks got longer and longer, until the Commander eventually fell into a true sleep, slumped comfortably in the chair.

Sleep relaxed the leader's features and made him seem so much less harsh. Jaro always found his eye drawn to the scar. He knew the story – everyone did – but all he could think was that it was such a distinguished mark. It added to the sharp, angular features which made the Commander so handsome. There was nothing wrong with a scar on a soldier. Scars told a story. He wasn't so sure about his own – it was going to be long and quite ugly, but he could see the beauty in other people's skin.

There wasn't a lot of pleasure to be found while trapped in the medbay, but he let his mind wander, making up a scenario in his mind where the Commander had chosen to come to visit. He knew that, in reality, Ghost must have sent him in with the tray and he was just so exhausted he fell asleep where he dropped, but that didn't stop him creating a fantasy in his own head. One where the Commander seeked out his company. Nobody could take away his own dreams, and he intended to knit together a few pleasant ones which could balance out the nightmares of the burning building.

Watching the Commander sleep by his side seemed like the perfect way to start.

He was in no hurry to have him wake and leave.


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

When Ghost returned to the medbay he was surprised to find that both Wolffe and Jaro were asleep. It was a good thing really because he didn't really want to have to talk to anyone just now. He hadn't expected the Commander to hang around for this long. He'd been gone for hours. It had taken a long time to calm Mica down and get him settled. Usually having the squad around helped those tackling grief, but with everyone either in the medbay or lost, it had been a very lonely return for the brave shiny. It was easy to forget how fresh Mica was because he put himself forward and took responsibility beyond his years.

Ghost slipped in to the room as quietly as possible, not wanting to disturb them. He got as far as the med cabinet before Jaro stirred, yawning sleeping and glancing immediately at the chair and its occupant.

Ghost held a finger up to his lips, trying to prevent his Commander from being woken. Once up, he would be determined to get out and oversee the goings on, regardless of his own need for sleep. He was only man not to have had a medical yet, but that could wait a few hours more. It was always a matter of prioritising.

Jaro gave a small nod and settled back on the pillow. He permitted himself a small grin. Wolffe had slithered further down in the chair and started to drool. Fortunately he hadn't started to snore…yet.

He turned his attention to Ghost instead as he went about his routine of checks. The medic looked as if he'd been crying, but it was hard to tell because the exhaustion already showed in his eyes. When Ghost moved close enough, he reached out to touch his arm. "Hey, vod'ika…you okay?"

Ghost started to shake his head then put a hand up to thread his fingers in his hair, forcing the movement to stop as if that would make it all end. "Just picking up the pieces for Mica. It's always hard to be the one putting on the brave face." He couldn't ignore the question forming on the sniper's lips…everyone always wanted to know. "Jet and Rhen. A booby trap caught Rhen and Jet was tagged by a sniper."

Jaro caught a slight change of tone on the final word. _Snipers were good when they were on your side, but they often meant death for those who felt they were safe. _You could be well away from perceived danger and still be taken out by a shot before you knew what was happening. "It would have been instant kyr'am. He won't have suffered. Sniper's shots are high powered and accurate." It was meant to be comforting but he could see the anger brewing like a fast approaching storm. _Aw, fek, here we go again_. The medics swinging temper and _his _short fuse didn't always rub well. It hadn't been clear until they were put in such personal proximity but despite Ghost being the most wonderful medic and brother, it was still too much occasionally, for both of them.

Ghost felt like he was having to physically restrain himself. Jaro's blunt, no frills way of looking at the world often seemed downright cold. Some brothers were like that, and usually it didn't bother him, but when he was stressed and his guard was down, he wasn't always the perfect figure of tolerance that they all thought he was. He'd just sat with a brother who was inconsolable and then he had moved straight to another one who dissected it as if it were a piece of data and not the loss of a vod.

Jaro felt the pressure and pushed on, trying to explain his way of thinking so that he seemed less harsh. Maybe if he explained Rhen's life philosophy. That had helped him so much, maybe it would help Ghost. He licked his lips, glancing at the sleeping Commander, then back at the irate medic. "Rhen didn't fear death, Ghost. He told me that he believes that when we die, it's a new chance." It didn't seem to be having the desired effect. "It's freedom, Ghost. Freedom we never have in life. He was looking forward to the day when he would see those brothers who had passed already. It's a wonderful way to look at it."

Ghost shook his head angrily, still trying to keep his voice down. It was a furious argument to be having in a whisper. "We all know that's osik, Jaro! It's not wonderful…it's delusional. How does that help Mica? Do you think I should go to him and tell him 'oh, never mind that you saw one brother blasted on a det, dragged his corpse back and then lost your brother by choice to some shabla coward sniper, all before your mind could even catch up with what was happening'?! Because I won't do that. Maybe you could, but I'm not heartless. I don't set myself up in some hidey hole and shoot people klicks away." He was spitting angry, right up in his face, hand braced against the angled section of the bed by his head. "Have you ever had to shoot someone and look them in the face? Or have you always been able to distance yourself from it all, then harp this senseless nonsense to make it all okay in your mind? You know nothing of what Mica went through losing Jet. Losing Rhen was tough but to see his brother be taken out like that, right at his side and there was nothing he could do! Jet was everything to him…"

"I know…I understand attachment." Jaro swallowed hard, trying to keep the emotion from his voice. _Of course he knew attachment. This squad didn't know him. How could they make snap decisions like that about his character?_ "I hope it was quick for Rhen and that he didn't suffer, but I know he's happy now, bless him. He was a good man, taken to young, but he wasn't scared…that's my point. He was ready for it whenever it happened. We all lose people in this war. It's how we deal with it that matters, and Rhen was the most logical thinking brother I ever had the good fortune to meet."

Ghost's tenuous control seemed to have snapped and his outburst was enough to wake the whole room, never mind the rest of the medbay. "There is nothing after death, Nine-Six! I've seen death in every form possible and all that's left is a cold corpse. A cold corpse and a squad of broken individuals that need to be put back together, only for it all to happen again too soon. There is no glory. Ever. Just fekkin' pain. And fear. And then black." _His face was that of a strangers. _He dodged Wolffe who was out of his chair and trying to intervene in an argument that he had only heard part of, and made a grab for his pile of bedding. He tried to put on a professional face, pausing briefly out of the Commander's reach. "I've completed all of Nine-Six' checks for the night. If you'll excuse me, I am returning to my squad." He turned before any reply could be made and stepped through the doors at a fast walk without looking back at all, heading right out the medbay, past the confused faces of those who had been woken by the outburst.

The silence that followed was louder than the shouting, only broken by the hiss of the doors sliding shut again.

"He gave me a name…and then he took it away again…as if it were a toy from a naughty child."

Wolffe turned at the barely audible voice, partially surprised…but then, Jaro hadn't raised his voice throughout the entire exchange. He had argued his point passionately, but with a gentleness that had seemed to bait Ghost more than argument could have. He moved back towards the bed. In the moment, he hadn't been sure whether to go after the medic, or stay with the sniper, but the tone of the voice was so broken and understated that he couldn't walk away. He ran a hand comfortingly through the brother's hair, ruffling it softly between his fingers. "I gave you the name, Jaro, and I'm not taking it away. Unless you want me to. Nobody can dictate your name. It's yours to take ownership of if you want to, or I will call you whatever you wish. It's always your choice, cyar'vod."

* * *

_**Lost my mojo a bit over the past few chapters. Couldn't get it to work. Might be back on track now. I know that good etiquette would be not to post low quality chapters but I do this for myself first and foremost - for the companionship and pleasure. If I'm idle, I write, and I've had a bad week so I write and write and produce crap, but it's still productive - and productive is better than nothing. I'm happy with this one. Hopefully it is better than the others. **_

_**Was hard to write Ghost as being unkind - but everyone has something that makes them tick. Being in sole care of one brother for several weeks would be completely alien to him and they are so different. Ghost is so sensitive while Jaro is more Wolffe like - more pragmatic and rough - of course there's going to be a little friction in high tension moments. Ghost is so loved, he can manage a small fall from grace here. We know he's a good man at heart! **_

_**Cyar'vod is another makey-up word on my part. I read it as 'sweet brother' but it could be read however you like - just in the same way as cyar'ika can mean a range of things dependent on situation. Whatever makes you comfortable. 'Sweet brother' is a bit too mushy for Wolffe...but put anything in mando'a and it sounds okay! lol Mando's are capable of being affectionate and masculine all at once, and it's a wonderful language for those sweet moments. **_

_**Thanks to those reading. It makes my day to have people willing to take time to read my stuff - even those chapters which aren't quite up to standard. It's something special - to be able to share your ideas with others. **_

_**Onwards and upwards. Chin up. ~ Atin**_


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

When Kohl arrived the next morning Jaro was still fast asleep. It was very early to be starting the morning checks but the General was getting out of bacta and he was needed for that. Wolffe had insisted on following him around. He wanted to make sure that his General was fit, although he always seemed to step out of bacta as if waking from a refreshing rest, unlike the men who came out coughing and weak. It must be a Jedi thing. Maybe he combined the bacta healing with a bit of meditation.

What had surprised Kohl most was Wolffe's desire to come along to check up on the sniper with him. He'd expected the Commander to join him later on but he had been ready and waiting.

Jaro woke with a start, glancing around in sleep muddled confusion until the lights came on. He squinted up and the chrono, rubbing sleep from his eyes and hefting himself more upright with his upper body strength alone. He was getting more mobile on the bed now that the aches were easing up.

It was a miserable 06:30 and far earlier than he was used to being woken for morning checks and meds. And it was Kohl, not Ghost. _Maybe the medic had refused to come back and treat him anymore?_

"Ghost is taking forty-eight hours leave to get treatment for his shoulder and take some rest. Kohl will be taking over for the duration." It was as if Wolffe could read his mind and had the answer to his silent fears.

Kohl didn't leap straight in. Instead he read over the notes that Ghost had kept of each day, assessing what could be done to help at this stage. "We're going to see if we can get you up. Just to stand for a few seconds, without support. No walking…I just want to see if you can start taking some weight yet." He placed the notes back down on the shelf and folded back the blankets to give the burns a check. "Is there anything you want us to do? Anything that would make you more comfortable?" He didn't want to come in and change what Ghost was doing, but he had heard of the spiralling arguments, so it seemed easier to work with the sniper rather than against him.

Jaro seemed surprised to be given the chance to have an input. He had grown so used to having all the decisions made for him over the past few weeks. He looked Kohl in the eye, afraid that he was walking himself in to some sort of trap but the senior medic was just waiting patiently for an answer. "Could you take the catheter out?" It was the only thing which was frustrating him. If he got rid of that he'd have more freedom to move about on the bed without concern. And some much desired privacy again. He could feel pretty much 24/7 now. It wasn't always perfect – sometimes it was a bit tingly – but it was surely good enough for that.

Kohl hesitated for a moment but went on to nod his agreement. "I'll do that now, as long as you're sure. I can't tell how much you're feeling so you need to work _with _me to get the best treatment plan in place. Don't bite off more than you can chew." He bustled Wolffe out of the way so that he could set out a tray of sterile equipment.

Jaro found himself smiling at the medic chasing their superior around whenever he got in the way. It kept him distracted while the work – which had now become humiliating by its repetitiveness – was completed. He had understood what Ghost had been saying about every patient being the same, but having to go through it all every day made it seem worse than he would have imagined it could be. He didn't think he was particularly self-conscious – no trooper was - but his body's lack of reaction was beginning to worry him. It was a tormenting mix of joy because he wasn't embarrassing himself, and frustration because something should have stirred sometime over these few weeks.

Wolffe had moved back to stand further away to give some privacy and didn't return until Kohl pulled the sniper's fatigues back in place. He steeped over to stand by his side, cracking a small smile of encouragement. "You ready to test out those legs?"

Now that it was so real and imminent, Jaro found himself questioning whether he _was _ready or not.

He knew that he had support.

He knew that he wasn't going to fall.

But he had no idea what he was going to be capable of after spending so long completely idle. He nodded, trying to look positive despite his nerves.

Kohl helped him to sit up slowly and swing his legs over the edge of the bed, making sure that Wolffe took up a position on the sniper's other side.

"Aww, fek…" The room was spinning in a dizzy and nauseating manner as the blood drained from his head. He gripped both of them so tightly that he was sure that his nails would break the skin. This was even worse than the terrible feeling you got after a dip in bacta. Maybe it was a duration thing; he'd never spend more than half a day in bacta…he'd avoided injury up till now.

Kohl encouraged him to lean forward and let his head settle, supporting him carefully at all times so that he felt safe. "If it's too much, just say the word and we'll settle you back down again. It's maybe too much for your body." He patted his back in a comfortable manner. "I've never treated anything like this. It's all informed guesswork for me."

Jaro rallied, determined not to give in. "No…no, I'm fine. Let's give it a try." He sat up, taking a few steadying breaths. He was terrified this would fail. If he couldn't walk again then even General Plo wouldn't be able to prevent Kamino taking him. His life was all in his hands and he had to do this.

He moved inch by inch towards the edge of the bed, placing his feet flat on the floor and staring down at them in the hope that he could will them to take his weight.

Wolffe took his hand and mimicked the way that Kohl was getting ready to support the weight by slipping a hand under his arm. He watched attentively as his brother moved closer to the edge and tentatively flexed his muscles to sit up straighter. He wished there was something he could do to make it easier for him but there was nothing anyone could do apart from stand at his side and offer encouragement.

He couldn't even remember learning to walk in the first place. He was willing to bet the Kaminoans didn't give them any encouragement and help like this. _How many men never even got past that hurdle?_ He'd heard about how exacting the Kaminoans were with their products. Only the best passed through to each stage.

Jaro took another deep breath then closed his eyes and put all his effort in to standing. It was just as well that he had his brothers on either side because he had considerably more strength in his left leg and sent himself right off balance. He caught himself against Wolffe's chest, having pulled his arm free of Kohl's grip in a frantic need to grab something. Fortunately Wolffe was as steady as a rock even with a flying sniper colliding with him and he stood still as Jaro through his free arm desperately around his neck for grip.

Kohl had moved in to support the sniper from behind, his hands on either side of his chest, but it was Wolffe who had become the prime support.

Jaro had his face pressed in to his Commander's neck, eyes screwed shut so that he could focus all his attention on what he was trying to do, although the proximity had put him slightly off his stride. "Sorry, sir…I'm sorry, I didn't mean…" He was breathing heavily with the effort and adrenaline. If he had the strength he would have pulled back to a more respectful distance but he was hanging on for dear life.

Wolffe took it all in his stride, soothing all concerns and trying to take the tension out of the situation. The press of his brother's lips to his flesh, and the warmth of his breath, were all working to excite him so he was doing his level best to will away any reaction. Now was not the time. "That's okay, Jar'. Don't worry about me." He looked over the sniper's shoulder to meet Kohl's eyes. "You're doing really well."

Kohl nodded, letting a big grin spread across his face. He hadn't been entirely confident that the damage would be repaired enough to bear weight – not that he would have made that known to the patient. It was always the medic's job to keep the bedside manner up to scratch. Jaro wasn't to know his fears. If he had told him then that might have destroyed all morale. "Well done, how does it feel?"

Jaro bit down on his lip and tightened the muscles in the arm that was looped around the Commander's neck, glad that the man was so strong. "Okay…sore…" He didn't want to give in but he was going to fall down soon. "I need to sit."

They both eased him back so that he could lower himself on to the mattress, helping him get comfortable again. Kohl fished out a mild painkiller for the inevitable aches and pains.

Jaro looked down at his own legs, then up at his brother's with a wide smile that seemed to grow.

It was the first true smile that Wolffe had seen from the taciturn brother.

"I did it…they still work." The silence stretched on as they basked in the success. "I'm not going to Kamino."

* * *

**_Oomph...I'm enjoying Jaro and Wolffe tension very much. It's a slow burn with these two, but very pleasurable. ~ Atin_**


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Much as Wolffe had anticipated, the General had stepped out of the bacta tank as if waking from a refreshing nap. Kohl had tried to convince him to stay in the medbay a little longer but all the tests had come back clear and the Jedi was determined to return to duty. He had explained to the medic that he had used the time to rest and heal, and the bed was better taken up by someone who truly needed it, especially considering how busy the medbay was.

Kohl had admitted defeat and signed him as fit for service, despite Wolffe's glowers.

The Commander knew just how much the Jedi would push himself. He wasn't one to step back and relax, but then neither were the clones…but still…there were less Jedi. _You couldn't replace General Plo. Nobody could ever measure up to be even half the 'man' he was._ But then the Jedi always said that none of his clones were disposable. That was part of why everyone trusted him. He had complete respect, because he was good enough to _show _respect.

Too many Jedi expected to be given respect purely because of their midichlorian count.

Plo Koon as better than any of them. There was more to being a Jedi than power. There had to be compassion and humility in the mix too.

* * *

He waited patiently while the Jedi changed in to his robes, making himself ready to return to duty. He was concerned that he was going to get a dressing down for something since he'd been called to the General's quarters._ It rarely happened – the General was extremely lenient in his punishments – but this whole campaign had been a complete disaster and Wolffe was meant to be in charge. The buck stopped with him. _He should have found a way to make it work. Instead, his entire battalion had been withdrawn and Bacara's Galactic Marines were brought in with a new plan. It was tactics, but that didn't stop it feeling like Bacara was capable of what he wasn't. The type of battle wasn't suited to a mobile armoured division…the Wolfpack had been wasted, but clones were meant to be adaptable. He should have been able to make it work. He certainly shouldn't have ended up with ninety percent of his men unfit for duty.

He should have done something when the water got low. He should have quarantined the ill men better to stop it spreading. It was hard to do affective hygiene controls in scenarios like that. What little sanitising facilities they had were under use by the medics so that they could work.

He'd done his best but that was never enough. No matter what people said about it, whenever he made mistakes, his brothers paid the price. It felt like a punishment. He was okay with that.

"Are you sure you're ready to go back, sir?" He shifted anxiously, feeling the aches in his back from constant standing. "I can hold the fort for now." _If you trust me._

Plo Koon turned and approached the young Commander, feeling the emotions washing like waves across the room. The man was struggling. That was easy to discern from the Force, but he also felt ripples of sharp red. It wasn't painting a clear picture, but he knew the clone very well and this was usually what accompanied an injury. Wolffe wasn't sporting any obvious wounds, but it was clear that he wasn't 100%. He deserved the chance for some down time. A few days to collect himself before they went back to pulling the scattered and ill battalion back together.

He straightened his robes and slipped the painted vambraces in to place. It was always a privilege and a pleasure to stride out with the Wolfpack colours on his arms. He was proud of his men…every single one of them, but he couldn't help himself from attempting to 'father' the Commander in his vulnerable moments. It was so much pressure to put on a man who was technically only around eleven years old.

It was cruel. He wasn't always comfortable with a youngling like Ahsoka being brought in to a warzone, but it would be wrong to think of her in a different light to the clones. It was all too easy to forget about this army of men who had the emotional vulnerabilities of younglings. If you focused on the brave work they completed, it was virtually impossible to rationalise that with a mere eleven years of life.

He would do everything in his power to look after the men he was fortunate enough to fight with.

He placed a hand on Wolffe's shoulder, sending some waves of comfort over him. "I'll be fine Commander. You've been on duty for nearly fourteen days straight now. It's time you took your forty-eight hours to recuperate." He moved his fingers along the armour, tracing a claw along the seam of grey. "I assure you I won't be doing anything either, but let me take control for a short period while you rest. You do the same for me, so allow me to show my gratitude for everything you do. I'll sign you off now. Take the time and come back refreshed. Then we can tackle this together."

* * *

Wolffe reached his 'fresher just in time to grasp the sink and retch up the water he'd just sucked down, catching sight of his own pale reflection in the mirror. He came back up coughing and grimacing at the sour taste. It had been like this on and off throughout the day. He'd lost his breakfast, and his liquid lunch…and now his attempt at rehydration. If he sipped slowly it seemed okay, but when he had drank the contents of his water bottle it hadn't wanted to stay drank.

_He wasn't sick. _

_He couldn't be sick. _

He'd seen the men who had gone down with the gastric flu and it was much worse than this so he was pretty sure he was safe in that regard. He hadn't been in the isolation space of the medbay either so he wasn't in contact with it all. He didn't feel sick at all, apart from the few short minutes while everything chose to reappear. It must just be lingering on from the miserable siege. At least he was back home and not trying to run a battalion at the same time on some force forsaken planet.

Food and potable water had been in short supply, and the climate was unforgiving. He'd hated seeing so many men ill but that often came with the tropical planets. At least when they were freezing their shebs off it was often less likely to make them all sick. They couldn't be immunised against everything. It was part and parcel of every campaign. The side that the holonet never saw.

He let the water run, splashing his face and peering at his reflection. It always frustrated him to see the difference between his real eye and the cybernetic. It made him feel lopsided but it looked especially bad when he was run down and tired. The climate had been irritating and his eyes still an achy pink hue from the endless dust, and the small bruise which he had no recollection of getting. The cybernetic on the other hand didn't feel these discomforts and looked exactly the same as always.

There was the scar…but then there would always be the scar. Sometimes he was proud of it but most of the time he felt it was just a reminder of everything this war was taking away.

He had entered as a confident, handsome young man, but in only a few short years he'd lost all that. Even if he lived long enough to see peace, he'd never get it all back.

He was finding the first grey hairs at his temples. Barely 23 years old and he was already minus one eye. All he got in return for his efforts were scars, nightmares and grey fekkin' hairs.

He scowled at the reflection, resisting the sudden urge to smash his fists in the glass. That wouldn't help at all, but it didn't stop him wanting to do it. Just to vent some frustration.

It was late. He'd gone back to his office, despite being given the time off, only returning to his room when he ran out of things to work on that could be done without anyone realising he wasn't resting. He'd showered and settled down to sleep but he was so thirsty he'd made the mistake of reaching for water bottle and gulping it down too fast.

There was no way he'd be getting back to sleep now.

Instead, he brushed his teeth, hovering for a few moments indecision over whether he should put his armour back on to leave his room. There was nothing stopping him going around in his fatigues but it wasn't how he tended to be seen. They were for rest only in his mind; another restriction he put on himself, further distancing himself from his brothers.

He settled on swapping it for the bodysuit instead, even if it was more tight and restrictive. There was a comfort in wearing it; his second skin.

Getting to the medbay was relatively easy although he had to move quickly to get to the side room without drawing the attention of any medics on duty. He was still due a check-up and he had no intention of submitting to one until he felt better. He slipped and let the door shut hastily behind him.

Jaro was asleep again, curled up on his side with the datapad resting on the bed beside him. The blanket had slipped off on to the floor so Wolffe leant down carefully to gather it back up again, rubbing his back as he stood up. He fluffed it out and tucked it over the sniper, taking care not to wake him. He was a little disappointed to find that he was asleep but he be just as happy to take a seat by the bed and take some comfort in the company. He'd promised to come back in the evening but ended up so busy avoiding everyone that he didn't get the chance.

He carefully pried the datapad out from the relaxed hands and swiped the screen to bring up the last activity.

It was the lists of deaths across the entire Grand Army.

Not the usual bed time reading you'd expect.

There wasn't a search entered. It appeared that he was just scrolling through the hundreds of names. _What was he looking for? Who was he looking for? _It appeared that he had fallen asleep before finishing the task, so Wolffe marked the point he'd reached and switched the pad off to set it aside.

He leant forward with his elbows on his knees, taking the chance to stare at the sleeping man.

He was curled up with the damaged side of his face against the pillow so the effect was to make him appear as he was before the accident. Only the slightest hint of the burn curling across his collar bone was visible to remind them of what had happened. It was a little disconcerting to see him appear so normal, free of all the wires and tubes, yet still so weak and vulnerable.

He'd enjoyed having him grasping tightly around his neck. Of course it wasn't planned…but it had been pleasant. It had taken all his self-control to bite back the swell of arousal and the desire to wrap his arms around him. He'd managed to keep himself in check but he'd relished every second.

It had also been painful to see a brother struggle so much with something as simple as standing. It was something they never experienced. An injury that took away the ability to move was an instant one way trip to Kamino. If Jaro could get the strength and balance back to operate as before, then it would really rub salt in the wounds for every brother who had lost a vod to 'untreatable' paralysis.

But it would be worth it for Jaro.

He reached out tentatively to touch the healed burns on the sniper's forearm, keeping the contact light enough to avoid waking him up. He was allowing himself to become captivated by the taciturn and occasionally downright arrogant trooper. He like the tenacity. Nobody spoke back to him. What had frustrated him originally was now becoming a mark of respect. Jaro had proven himself time and time again. When he started mouthing off, it was often worth listening, even if he had done so with a matching scowl in place.

He fussed with the blanket again; making sure that it was covering every inch of the sniper's body, protecting him against the slight chill in the air. That was one benefit of wearing the body suit. It regulated temperature - even without the armour system - better than fatigues.

Seeing the lists of dead brothers on the datapad bothered him, especially to think that his vod was working through those lists. It wasn't something he had ever seen a trooper do before and it made his skin crawl.

He settled back in to the chair, his hand resting on Jaro's for a moment. "What were you searching for, cyar'vod?"

He didn't expect a reply – it had been spoken barely audibly, but he couldn't stop himself thinking aloud…or from adding the affectionate term when he was sure nobody would hear.

Cyar'vod.

_Sweet brother._


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25

Wolffe woke with a start, blinking sleepily and trying to work out what had made him jump. He had to swallow his shock when a hand came down on his shoulder.

"…just me, sir."

Wolffe relaxed back again as Mica moved around to pull up a chair on the other side of the bed.

_Fek it…he'd been so out of it that he'd taken moments to become aware of his surrounds. Mica hadn't even been creeping up on him._

That sort of thing could result in his death if they were on a campaign.

_But they weren't on a campaign. They were home. They were safe._

Mica seemed restless, but that was only to be expected. It was just good to see him out and about, getting involved with his squad. He had been so low when they were evacuated and it could be hard to bounce back after heavy losses, especially after such a trauma. Now he has jumpy and fidgeting; seemingly incapable of sitting still for more than a few minutes at a time.

Wolffe closed his eyes and attempted to doze but it was impossible with Mica jiggling his knees or tapping the arm of the chair. The young trooper even reached the stage of getting up and pacing around the room. Wolffe blinked himself awake and turned watched him pace from one wall to the other. "…Mi'…"

Mica ground to a halt and flopped back down in his chair, rubbing his hands through his messy bed-head hair. "Sorry, sir." He huffed out his breath and chewed on the inside of his lip.

"Have you been on the caf, Mi'?"

Mica didn't usually drink caf, but it wasn't uncommon for clones to turn to stimulants to avoid sleeping when they knew they'd be plagued with nightmares. Turning to caf wasn't too bad but sometimes brothers would abuse the use of stims to try to avoid sleeping. Fortunately every Wolfpack medic was highly scrupulous when monitoring the replenishment of stims for the trooper's own medkits. They made it their job to know how often all brothers were refreshing their kit. That way it was pretty much impossible for anyone to get hooked on the use of stims. It had only happened once and that was because the vod's brothers thought they could help him kick the habit and hide it from the medics. That man had collapsed and succumbed to heart failure. He had been a friend of Kohl's and it broke the medic to realise he'd missed all the signs, but they would never let it happen again, and it had been enough to scare anyone who thought they could help a brother to give it up without the help of the medical team.

Mica forced himself to sit still. "You know I hate the stuff, sir. It'd have to be an order before I touched caf." He rubbed his hands together, lacing his fingers and trying to relax back. "…I think Ghost drugged my tisane…I slept for eighteen hours straight. I've never slept like that."

Wolffe managed a quiet snort which passed for his laughter, and that characteristic half smile. "I wouldn't put that past him when he's trying to make someone rest and heal. So you're just wired on energy then?"

Mica managed to look guilty despite it not being his fault. "I couldn't sleep anymore and I didn't want to sit alone in the squad room. I didn't realise you'd be sleeping in here and I thought Jaro might be on an odd sleep schedule like me." He seemed to be trying to new name for size, casting aside 'Nine-Six' easily because it had never truly been a name; just a number. He perked up again as a thought struck him. "Hey, sir, I could go and bring back something from the mess. They'll be preparing for the crews on nightshift to get their main meal. I could get us of that spicy nuna stew."

Wolffe felt his stomach turn at the thought of the big ladle of stew that was always dolloped on their plate with an audible splat. It tasted okay – anything was better than rations or foodboard – but he just wasn't up to those thoughts right now. Even the tepid bottle of water at his feet was largely untouched. He got to his feet, trying to look casual. "I'll tell you what. Can you go to the armoury for me and bring back a complete kit and some paint. He's going to need new armour and we could get started on that." He took a few steps towards the room's 'fresher, watching Mica bounce up out the chair enthusiastically and nod his agreement. "Tell Kel that I sent you if he gets shirty." The vod in charge of their armoury liked everything to be run like clockwork, and middle of the night requests were not his idea of clockwork.

It took Mica far too long to get out the room as far as Wolffe was concerned. The young man seemed so full of energy but he was frustratingly steady in his passage out the door. It was only when it clicked shut that Wolffe allowed himself to move briskly in the fresher and collapse to his knees on the floor. His stomach was turning itself inside out and he was thoroughly miserable. Fortunately Jaro had slept through all his mad dashes so far. It was surprising that he slept so deeply, but the attempt at standing must have been even more exhausting than it looked.

He made sure to compose himself and return to the chair before Mica returned, laden down with the kit.

They sat down together and began to make the usual modifications that would allow it to sit more comfortably and to prepare it for the paint. All the members of the Wolfpack had the same basic pattern of grey on the armour and if they wished, they could add their own touches – usually to the helmet – to make it their own.

Jaro could add those final touches himself if he wanted to.

_Maybe he would be angry at being presented with Wolfpack armour. His own had been quite distinctive among the battalion and it had made it clear that he was special, but they all wanted him to feel like he was part of the team. Wearing the 'pack colours was a mark of honour…but maybe not to someone who didn't want to be there…_

They didn't have any of the advanced kit to replace his armour like-for-like anyway, so even if he hated this freshly painted kit he would have to wear it until they next restocked at Coruscant.

The smell of the paint wasn't helping Wolffe's delicate constitution and he had to excuse himself while Mica set it all the pieces out and prepared to take them back to the squad room to dry. If they left them cluttering up the room Kohl would kick their shebs. The smell really wasn't too strong and it had never bothered him before, but it was enough to make his head pound and his stomach contort now. He ran the shower to provide some background noise. There was nothing at all in his stomach and he was just retching uselessly. He didn't mean to be so long but when he initially tried to stand his head spun and his vision blurred alarmingly. He had sink back down and lean against the wall until he mustered the strength to stand with enough reliability to get back to his chair and look as normal as possible.

But when he finally got himself back in to the room he found that Mica had disappeared and taken all the evidence of armour painting with him. He must have decided to go and get that meal after all.

That was fine with Wolffe. As long as Jaro stayed asleep he'd not have to worry about keeping up the façade until Kohl arrived for the morning checks.

He pulled the chair in closer until he was right beside the bed and placed his hand on the sniper's arm, careful to avoid the burns which were still healing. He was going to end up with a considerable degree of scarring since he hadn't been in the bacta tank, but that didn't matter. There was no dishonour in scars – and if Jaro somehow felt there was, then Wolffe would make it his personal duty to show him how wrong he was. Fortunately, the sniper didn't seem to have that shiny mentality, but it would still be hard to go from having no scars to dealing with the sheer area of the burns. The skin could be tight and uncomfortable, it could crack and bleed if not cared for but there was always someone watching out for you in the squad and Ghost would give him creams to help with the healing.

The white hot floor beam had left a patterned scar which wrapped around his ribs. And then there was the saber burn that Wolffe had clumsily given him. There'd be no forgetting this incident. It was written on the skin for the rest of the man's life.

He sank forward to rest his head on his arm, closing his eyes against the light that made his head pound. He had released his grip in favour of using his arms as a pillow. If he could summon the energy he'd have got up and switched off the lights but that was all the way across the room and he wasn't all that confident about getting there and back without incident. He'd just have to try to rest up for an hour or so and get his strength back.

His stomach hurt but that was nothing to the ache in his head and across his back. He reached for the water bottle and took a small measured sip to wet his mouth. It didn't make much difference, but if he gave himself anything to throw up then that's exactly what would happen.

He sighed and leant back against the mattress with his arms crossed and his forehead resting on them. It blocked out most of the light and allowed him to pretend it was dark.

He must have been zoning out again because he leapt when a hand touched his shoulder. He sat up too quickly and hissed in pain, squinting at the too bright light. "…fek." Jaro must have the light control by his bed as well because he sensed the darkness descend around him and the pain lessened to a dull ache.

"You're sick."

_There was no 'sir'…no hint of the command gap and subsequent expected degree of respect…no distance. Just a plain statement given in level tones._

Wolffe shook his head slowly, not wanting to move too quickly. He tried to sit up but Jaro's hand on his shoulder held him in place, forcing him to stay slumped against the bed. "I'm fine, Jar'. It's just a headache." He squinted up at him, realising that the sniper wasn't much more awake than he was. His eyes were half lidded and his hand resting on Wolffe's shoulder was heavy with exhaustion. "Go back to sleep, cyar'vod. I'm fine."

Jaro's eyes seemed to light up at the affectionate term but he was battling to stay awake. "Mind keeps waking up but m'body's too tired." He looked frustrated with his weakness. Pushing himself hard to stand on his own two feet had been a lot more tiring than he'd have thought possible. "You've been in the 'fresher at least five times and probably more when I've been properly asleep."

Wolffe closed his eyes and carefully schooled his features. _So Jaro had been half awake some of the time. That didn't mean he was compos mentis enough to have taken in much of what was going on. He could be making assumptions_. "Are you monitoring my habits?" He managed to keep his tone light. Nothing seemed to slip past the sniper. It must be the way his mind worked. He was always aware of the details. "I'm fine, honestly, now just go back to sleep. I don't want Kohl shouting at me for tiring you out."

"Either you're sick and trying to hide it, or you showered every time you went for a piss…"

_Just as he'd thought. Nothing got past the sniper mentality_.

"Mica was here for a bit, some of the times you heard someone moving about it must have been him. You didn't open your eyes." He softened his tone, trying not to allow anger to creep in. For once Jaro wasn't baiting him. He was just concerned, but it wasn't his place to worry about the Commander. He was the one who needed cared for. "I told you; I'm fine. Don't worry about me. I've had my medical." _Another blatant lie but Jaro had been so trapped in this room he'd never know. _"I'm just exhausted, Jar'. If you don't mind, I'm going to get some rest. I can leave if you want peace?"

Jaro didn't reply but he did lay his hand on Wolffe's arm to prevent him from moving. He'd either got fed up of arguing or just exhausted himself so much he couldn't keep it up. Either worked for Wolffe, as long as they both got some sleep before Kohl appeared again.

He was glad for the silent acceptance because he was pretty sure he wasn't getting out of this chair unless he had to make some frantic attempt for the 'fresher, and even that was debatable. Nothing short of ship wide evacuation was going to rouse him once he gave in the battle with exhaustion. His energy seemed to have sapped away and left him boneless and aching.

Just a little bit of shut eye and he'd be able to get some caf and maybe a stim to keep him moving throughout the day. _He'd manage. He always did. _For now he was content to fall asleep in this most un-commander-like of spots, as long as Jaro kept quiet. He'd deal with everything else once he got his strength back. He felt surprisingly at ease and safe in the company of the taciturn and short tempered vod. Maybe it was a kindred spirit thing. If his head didn't hurt so much he would have snorted at that thought but instead he allowed a tiny hint of a smile that nobody would ever see anyway and closed his eyes to get as much sleep as his body would let him before it rebelled again.


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

It was like deja-fekkin'-vu.

Wolffe woke with firm hands on his shoulders, rousing him from his sleep. He moved carefully, shifting his head to glare up at Kohl.

_It must be morning then…_

He'd slept solidly since speaking to Jaro – which was probably testament to his exhaustion because his stomach still churned warningly in the background below the other pains. He would quite happily continue to sleep.

"Morning, sir." Kohl was busying himself around the bed, between trying to rouse the Commander form his slumber. "Nature calls, sir, and you're kinda in the way." There was a slightly apologetic tone in his voice but he was still moving with the efficiency of any medic in his domain.

It took Wolffe a few confused moments to realise that Kohl didn't mean him. He was quite sure he didn't need told…and then he realised he had shifted an arm while he slept and was pinning Jaro in a reclined position with an arm across his stomach. _Fek, he looked like he was trying to climb in to bed with him…_

He hauled himself upright, apologising quietly. He kept his eyes shut against the bright lights and sudden movement, waiting for his head to settle in this new position. His mouth felt like he'd been trying to swallow sand. He really should move, or at least turn away, but it was clear his eyes were closed even if his posture made him appear to be staring down at the bed and he needed to take some time to get his bearings before he started shifting around.

He waited until the movement had stopped and he heard the clang of the waste chute lid, judging it safe to open his eyes and not be thought rude. The first thing he saw was a small container held in front of his face by the medic.

"Sample, please, now." Kohl's tone was firm and Wolffe instantly knew that Jaro must have said something. "And I'll want a blood sample when you're done with that." The medic pointed imperiously towards the 'fresher which seemed like a long walk away now.

Wolffe glowered at the medic, but his heart wasn't in it…he was more concerned about not falling on his face. He stood up carefully and walked across the room with as much dignity as he could muster.

Jaro watched him like a hawk the entire distance, only looking away as the door slid shut. He glanced up at Kohl, enjoying the senior medic's more relaxed pace. His chest tightened in guilt as soon as he let that thought free. Ghost had got him out of a seemingly deadly situation and managed to keep him safe and alive. It wasn't his fault that Jaro was such an impatient and short tempered man to treat.

Ghost would be back on duty tomorrow. Maybe he'd come back and he'd be able to see how well he was doing now. He could lift his legs up off the mattress and make them do _nearly _what he wanted them to do, even if they wouldn't yet take his weight. And he was free of that fekkin' catheter and there had been no clean ups required. That alone was enough to improve his temper considerably.

Wolffe returned after a short time, reluctantly handing the jar back to Kohl. He still looked indignant but resigned to suffer the medic' wrath. "…you're lucky you even got that much." He sank back down in the chair, rubbing his back to ease the discomfort.

Kohl gave the sample a cursory glance and rolled his eyes, setting it aside on the table. "I wouldn't even need to be medic to assess that…" He fished around in the drawer for the equipment to take a blood sample, setting it all out on the sterile tray. "Your back hurts – your kidneys hurt – you're severely dehydrated. You should know better, sir." He was quick to select a needle and raise a vein to get some fluids running.

That was enough to make Wolffe woozy and he would have slid from the chair if Kohl didn't grab him.

"Steady, sir. I've got you." The medic looked around the room in frustration. Every bed had been pressed in to service and moved in to the quarantine area.

Before he could think any further Jaro was already pushing himself upright. He had enough leg control and upper body strength to be able to get himself upright and shift as far back towards the head of the bed as possible, sitting on the pillow with one leg stretched out and the right tucked up so that his toes rested under his left thigh. _He might need a little help untangling again but it was comfortable enough for now with a spare pillow between his back and the wall._ He patted the mattress in front of him. "Lie him down while you do your stuff. We can't have the good Commander collapsed on the floor." His tone was light, but he was still concerned. It was only the fact that Kohl seemed calm that had prevented him worrying more.

Kohl hefted the semi-conscious Commander on to the bed without argument. It was only a temporary solution but he was quite confident that once rehydrated Wolffe would bounce back quite quickly. If he couldn't keep down fluids then the IV would help immensely until he got some anti-emetics in his system. He wasn't the grey pasty colour of those brothers who were in quarantine so he was pretty confident that it was a pretty mild dose that had only got as bad as it had because of Wolffe's refusal to seek assistance. 'Manning up' was all fine and well until you got severely dehydrated. The Commander was in for one of his lectures when he was conscious again, and then no doubt one from Ghost as well when he was back on duty.

He managed to take a small sample of blood for testing just to confirm his own assumptions then pocketed both samples for analysis. "Will you be okay if I go and deal with these? He should lie quietly and let those fluids run, but if he tries to get up then just call for a medic and we'll deal with him."

The final words were made pointedly at Wolffe who was beginning to shift and test his strength.

Jaro smiled and patted the Commander on the shoulder. "I'll see he behaves himself."

Kohl's mouth quirked up in to a smile. It was nice to see someone who was willing to stand up to Wolffe without backing away when he got grumpy. Usually it took brothers a while to realise that he wasn't really as scary as he liked to make out, but Jaro just didn't seem bothered at all. He was completely unintimidated by the posturing.

Wolffe had his work cut out with this one, and vice versa.

* * *

They lay in silence for a long while before Wolffe started to fidget. He still had his eyes shut against the bright medbay lights so Jaro leant across and dimmed them to a more tolerable level.

The Commander grumbled quietly under his breath and squinted at the IV in his arm. "This isn't very comfortable. What the fek is this pillow made of?" There was a hint of drug induced confusion in his voice. Kohl must have added a mild sedative to the cocktail of injections. _Probably a wise move._

Jaro hushed him and began to rub his hands through the regulation cut hair, massaging to ease the headache that he knew would still be plaguing him. Wolffe kept his hair exactly as they had s cadets whereas Jaro had kept the sides much shorter than the top. He found that was most comfortable for wearing under the helmet but each to their own. He was willing to believe that Wolffe had never deviated from the style he had settled on all those years ago. _If it isn't broken, don't fix it. _"That's because it's my shin you're leaning on, not the pillow. I'm sorry I can't make it more comfortable for you…" He allowed the right amount of sarcasm to filter in to his tone to prevent it seeming belligerent.

Wolffe groaned and shifted carefully on to his side, still resting his head on his brother's leg. He was too tired to care, although the massage was pleasant. He couldn't think of a time when anyone had ran their hands through his hair…unless it was a medic trying assessing him for concussion…

"You'd better be careful, Jar', or you might just make yourself indispensable."

Jaro smiled indulgently, continuing his work by smoothing his hands down to Wolffe's tense shoulders. He found himself surprised by just how much he loved hearing not only his new name, but also the affectionate abbreviation. He'd heard Wolffe referring to Mica as Mi' and it felt homely and comforting. "Well…we wouldn't want that now would we, sir."


	27. Chapter 27

**_AN: Replacement chapter 27. Correcting OOC moments and awkward stuff. Pulling the brakes on them a bit. Hopefully it reads okay. Stepping away from Wolffe and Jaro directly to take the heat off. Having a little Mica instead._**

* * *

Chapter 27

Mica sat patiently at the bedside watching Wolffe sleep. The medic's had carried him back to his room to give him further treatment but the long and the short of it seemed to be that he needed to rest. It was all relatively simple after all.

The Commander had been working himself too hard. He always did, and it wasn't unusual for him to look like death warmed over after a hard slog of a mission, but this was bad even for Wolffe.

He was pale, almost as pale as the white sheets, but the sedative had put him to sleep and he would hopefully wake up feeling a little better. There was an IV line feeding fluids and medication in to his arm along with a relatively mild sedative. It hadn't taken much encouragement for the leader to fall asleep. He had worked himself to the point of collapse for his men; unwilling to step back and let things go.

He was a control freak. Everything had to be under his control at all points and that included post mission recovery. They all tried to keep an eye on him but the 'pack were all in the medbay apart from Mica, who's head had been so full of despair that he couldn't focus on anything.

Ghost had slipped him some meds and they took the edge off the panic. He still couldn't sleep well though. Every time he closed his eyes and dozed off, he could see Jet falling…he could hear his brother's cry of shock and pain as the sniper's shot found it's target.

It had been quick. That was the only thing that Mica had left to grasp to. His brother hadn't suffered at all. The shot had bled him out so quickly and he was in so much shock he didn't appear to be in pain either.

It had been quick.

And Rhen had been barely alive anyway so they could only hope that he had never felt the agony either.

Which just left Mica behind trying to pick up the pieces of his shattered life. It wouldn't have been so bad if he'd had some brothers to cling to the first night back, but everyone was in the medbay. He'd tried to sleep but woken in a sweat, screaming and reaching blindly for his brother. It had taken him minutes to realise it wasn't real and gradually the room had faded back in to the normal black rather than the harsh desert where Jet had died in his arms.

He'd tried sleeping with the lights on instead but it didn't help, so in the end he resorted to sitting up and trying desperately to stay awake. He drank mug after mug of tisane because he couldn't stomach caf at all, not even to get the buzz.

Wolffe had visited many times and tried to get him to talk but it was always hard to talk to the Commander like a brother, especially after a gruelling mission. It made him feel guilty, to find himself separating himself from the other clone. Wolffe should be just another one of the men, but the command gap prevented this from feeling so. Jaro was the only one with what seemed like little respect for the command gap. He would say exactly what he thought right to Wolffe's face…and sometimes Mica felt that was exactly what the man needed. Jaro would bring out the best in Wolffe because nobody else would challenge him.

Sinker and Boost were the closest to the Commander, but they were calm, friendly figures and they rarely rocked the boat. They knew how to work with Wolffe as he was, even if that wasn't the best way to be.

Mica sat beside the bed on the chair that he had pulled away from the desk. If Wolffe were awake, he would feel awkward, but since he was asleep it didn't seem quite so bad. Mica was a relative shiny and he always found himself surprised to be within that inner circle that were friends with the Commander. He'd started out in another squad but his performance had soon got him promoted. He was a good shot and a good tactician. But without Jet, he felt like half a man.

Thinking about Jet brought the stinging tears to his eyes. No matter how often he cried, there always seemed to be more tears waiting to be shed. He felt that overwhelming desire to run and get back to the solitude of the bunk room but he had promised the Kohl that he would stay here and make sure that Wolffe was okay while he slept. The medics were edgy to have him under treatment outside of the medbay walls where they could keep an eye on him, but there were no beds to be spared and the only place he could be was in his own bed.

Glancing around the room made him feel a little strange. He felt like it was an invasion of privacy to be here without express permission but Wolffe hadn't been conscious to give permission to anyone.

The room felt understated, considering it belonged to the highest ranking clone officer on the ship. It was essentially just the same as their bunk room but some of the space had been set aside for a desk and his own private 'fresher. There was no additional comfort provided for him. Everything was exactly the same as the kit given to any other clone. The only difference was that he was alone all the time. It must get miserable being stuck at that desk trying to work through the piles of paperwork. The entire space was covered in datapads and bundles of flimsy; it was probably meant to be in some sort of order but all Mica could think of when looking at it was just how much pressure must be resting on the shoulders of the Commander.

He shuffled forward in his chair and laid a hand on Wolffe's arm. He had no idea what he expected to feel, but the Commander felt just like he did; rough, scarred muscle and warmth. He really was just another brother, and seeing him dressed in fatigues and passed out on his bed just drove him that feeling. He wasn't some sort of all-powerful being; he just had to act like he was when really he was as liable to break as the rest of them.

He deserved better. He deserved a big room and some comfort for all the hard work he did. Every member of the Wolfpack felt they owed Wolffe a lot. He was a good Commander and it was thanks to his skill that many of them were still alive. Without his attempts to keep them safe the average mission plan would have them all dead. Thank the force for well-trained men like Wolffe who had the skill to keep the men safe against all attempts to run them in to the ground.

He removed his hand as the older man began to stir. Instead, he reached forward to touch his shoulder gently to let him know he had company. "Steady, sir. It's just me, Mica." He watched him blink in confusion, taking in his change in surroundings. "You passed out on Kohl, sir. They brought you back to your room because there's no space in the medbay."

Wolffe tried to push himself upright but his strength failed him and he had to lower himself back with an exhausted hiss of breath. "…Jaro?"

Mica quirked an eyebrow. "Jaro's in the medbay, sir." He didn't know whether the meds were making the Commander confused or whether it was the dehydration making him delirious. "We're in your room. Jaro's in the medbay."

Wolffe's gaze seemed to clear a little but he still couldn't find the strength to get off the bunk. He blinked and stared up at the young Wolfpack trooper. "…Mica?"

Mica stood up and straightened the blankets, trying to settle him before he got too agitated. "Yeah, Mica. It's okay, sir, I'm going to just get the Kohl now that you're awake."

Wolffe reached up and caught his wrist before he could pull away. "Jaro. Check up on Jaro." He didn't let go until Mica gave a nod, then he motioned towards the desk. "Can you get my datapad, please?"

Mica didn't want to argue, but the medic's had been very clear about making sure he didn't do anything at all. "You're not on duty, sir. It can wait until you're feeling more yourself again."

Wolffe wouldn't back down and made another strenuous attempt to get out of the bed. He just didn't have the strength and that scared him. "It's not work. I need to do something quickly. It's important."

Mica gave in without any major argument. He didn't like to say no to the man in charge.

Instead, he left Wolffe with the datapad in hand, heading for the medbay to find Kohl and to keep his promise to drop in by the sniper. It had been the first thing to cross the Commander's mind even before he was properly conscious. He had thought of Jaro as soon as he opened his eyes.

That was a drastic change to how he'd behaved towards the sniper only mere months ago. Something had made him change and it was showing a side of Wolffe that they would never have guessed existed.

He really seemed to care about the sniper.

He wanted him to feel safe and comfortable, and his actions had undoubtedly saved the taciturn trooper from Kamino, at least for now.

If Mica had been a betting man he would have put money on the Commander's need for a datapad being somehow related to Jaro but he had no idea how and he wasn't going to poke his nose in where it didn't belong.

Instead he set out at a trot, ready to do whatever it took to help his family though this moment of turmoil and pain, feeling the comforting presence of Jet at his shoulder telling him that everything would be okay. He would manage. He had many brothers who loved him and he could turn to any of them when he needed help.

And in return, he was going to do his bit to help everyone. Starting here with this duty of care.


	28. Chapter 28

**_AN: Chapter 27 was changed, so if you missed that you'd best re-read it before getting to this chapter!_**

* * *

Chapter 28

Jaro was miserable. And lonely. He hadn't seen much of Wolffe since his fainting episode a few weeks ago and now he most of the men were back out on a mission.

The ship was deadly quiet with just the support crew left behind to keep everything running. He was under the care of one of the auxiliary medics – a short tempered brother named Crow – who hauled him out of bed three times a day and made him go through the painful physiotherapy with no arguments allowed. It was probably beneficial because he was certainly improving, but he missed the friendly chatter and catch-up with the active service medics.

He had tried to see the good side of Crow but try as he might, all he could find was his permanent bad temper and ice cold personality. He tried to talk to him about his career as a medic but that had been the worst topic he could have ever picked. Crow went from his usual blank expression in to a tangible emotional pain which was hurriedly pushed away behind a façade of anger.

'_My squad are out putting themselves in danger while I run around the medbay. I never wanted to be a fekkin' medic. I just can't serve any more.'_

The reluctant medic had helped him get back in to bed then left as soon as he could justify it, shoulders slumped against the world and it was only then that Jaro noticed the limp. Crow walked as if in pain but it was only now that it occurred to him that this limp had never changed over the months he'd been in the medbay healing. He didn't see much of Crow, unless Kohl and Ghost were on-plant, but the limp had always been there; subtle but noticeable when you realised.

He felt guilty for being the cause of hurt but short of getting out of bed and hobbling after him, there wasn't a lot he could do when Crow was so unwilling to talk.

Jaro could now get from his bed to the 'fresher with the aid of a cane but the journey still exhausted him. He couldn't shower without the plasti stool that had become a permanent feature in the cubicle. He was starting to push himself and see how long he could stay standing, but he still didn't have the stamina to manage the whole time it took to get washed up.

He was dozing restlessly when his comm bleeped on the bedside table. He got regular messages from his squad when they had the chance to check in but this wasn't from any of them.

It was from the Commander.

_You're going to have a visitor soon. _

_K'oyacyi,_

_Wolffe_

He didn't know what to make of the message. It was the first message he'd received from the Commander and it seemed surprisingly informal, and no hint at who the visitor may be or when they would arrive. At first he assumed that the message hadn't been intended for him – why would the Commander be sending him a message? And then he got angry because for the briefest moment he had felt the flicker of excitement at the thought of having someone other than Crow visit him.

He slammed the commlink down on the side table again, almost knocking his glass of water over, then lay back to stare mutinously at the ceiling panels. He wished there was something he could do. If he spent many more weeks in this room he'd surely go insane. Ghost had promised that he could return to the squad room when he had the strength and coordination to stand for the duration of his shower, but no matter how hard he tried he just couldn't do it, yet. His legs turned to jelly if he pushed himself and the more exhausted he was, the harder it was to get his legs to do what he wanted. It was an uphill struggle to heal from a spinal injury and the black clouds of fear and doubt were always on the horizon. He had cracked a week before the 'pack shipped out and expressed his struggles to Ghost. The medic had been sympathetic and given him another medication to take when he felt that black oblivion trying to invade his mind. So far he had only ever picked up the packet and battled with his need for control, before placing it back on the shelf without taking any of the pills. But this was a new day and he felt that his whole being was crushed under this weight of fear and loss.

He reached quickly for the packet and popped out the dose, shoving them in to his mouth and swallowing before he could give himself time to panic and retreat.

With retrospect, taking two immediately was maybe overkill. Ghost had told him he could take up to two every time he felt the need as long as he didn't exceed a dose of six in twenty-four hours. Maybe two was too much, but the feeling of calm spread through his muscles and he stopped caring. As long as he didn't exceed the dose he would be okay.

_He could take six._

As far as Ghost was concerned, Jaro had been taking the meds daily so he had actually amassed a decent collection which he had hidden in the drawer of the bedside table, under his spare clothing and his datapad.

He took out a further four tablets and lined them up on the surface, making sure that the rest were returned to his drawer. This was his maximum dose for the day all lined up and ready for when he needed them. He wasn't going to be stupid enough to overdose. If he did then they might revoke his right to self-medicate.

He was half asleep again when the door opened and he didn't bother to open his eyes, knowing that Crow was probably just poking his head in to make sure he wasn't collapsed on the floor or needing any help. He jolted when a hand touched his bare shoulder.

"Long time no see, Rill."

Jaro jerked upright so fast he made himself twinge, grasping a hand to the still tender deep burns which were now shiny, but delicate, scarred flesh which pulled and ached when he moved. It was the name. He'd buried that name long ago…well, what seemed like long ago in the short life of a clone. He stared up in shock at the familiar face and messy hair. "Olvi?" He blinked hard, knowing that he had to be hallucinating. "…Olvi…fek." He scrubbed at his face and glanced the counted out dose of meds. Maybe he was allergic and this was some sort of reaction.

The brother sat carefully on the edge of the bed and grabbed Jaro, hugging him tight enough to make him realise that this was real.

Jaro wrapped his arms around his sniper brother's torso and buried his face in his shoulder, trying not to cry but losing the battle. He'd never thought he'd see his brother again. They had got up, eaten together and prepared for shipping out together, exactly the same as they always did on that fateful morning when they had been split up. They'd never been given the chance to say goodbye or to find out where they were all headed. The official decision simply took their squad – his child hood brother – his closest friends – and send them all off as if none of that mattered. And of course it didn't matter to the GAR. They were all just numbers to be positioned wherever was most suitable. They had no option but to do as they were told, even if that meant they never saw their closest friends ever again.

He'd been convinced that he'd never be able to contact any of them again, let alone see them face to face. He knew his mouth was still hanging open but he just couldn't get past the shock of seeing Olvi standing there in front of him. "…how?"

Olvi pulled back so that he could give Jaro the once over, checking his injuries and fussing over him like a broody nuna. "You're Commander must have done some digging. I'm with Commander Bacara now – the Galactic Marines – and all I know is that Bacara got a call from Wolffe and he gave me leave to come and visit. Wolffe was very insistent."

Jaro couldn't find words to express how that made him feel. All he could do was lean forward and pull Olvi close again for another bone crushing hug. He was scared that this was all a dream and it would disappear if he didn't hold on tight enough. "I love you, vod'ika." He'd known Olvi and since the day they were hauled out the growth vats. They'd been through everything together; every stage of development, every life lesson, and then everything that the war could throw at them…until their own command structure saw fit to tear them apart.

It suddenly occurred to him that there was one little change that needed to be mentioned before they got in to deep conversation. "I don't go by 'Rill' anymore, Olvi, I couldn't…" He swallowed and pushed on to try to explain himself. "I couldn't be Rill when we'd been torn apart and spread across the GAR…I…I just…"

Olvi hushed him, stroking his shoulder to calm him. "It's okay, vod'ika. You don't have to explain it to me, I understand. What do you go by now?"

"Jaro…because of my crazy stunts. Wolffe picked it after hauling me out the fire."

"Well then, Jaro," Olvi smoothed the blankets down and ran a feather light touch over the pattern of burned and scarred flesh. "Tell me what you've been up to; 'cause it sure as hell seems more interesting than anything I've done…"


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

Olvi only had eight hours to spend with Jaro before he had to return to duty, but they made the most of it, reminiscing on the good times. They'd spent all their life together but the time apart seemed like an eternity.

Crow had reappeared just before Olvi had to leave and – showing remarkable tact considering his bad temper – had decided to slip out again to allow them to make the most of the final ten minutes.

He wasn't entirely without tact and he certainly understood the need to be with your brother. So he waited in the main medbay, tidying up so that everything was perfect for the next medic on duty, until he saw Olvi leave. Even then he made a point of lingering a few extra minutes before taking a breath and striding in to the side room.

Jaro glanced up at him, forcing a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Are you here to put me through my paces like a thoroughbred odupiendo again?" He sniffed, rubbing his face with the back of his hand before hauling himself forward to sit on the end of the bed, grumbling quietly to himself as the movement made his fatigues ride up and bunch around his knees. He still didn't have the flexibility to reach that far because of the deepest burns on his torso which were still healing.

Crow stepped forward and tugged the hem back down to his ankles and offered his arm for balance as the sniper slid off the bed. "Yep, I'm here to put you through all Corellian hells. You should be used to that by now."

The routine was the same every session; lots of gruelling exercises to build up the strength in his legs and improve his coordination. It was frustratingly simple – the sort of things they had never had to worry about because the whole life of training had built up their strength gradually as they grew. Jaro couldn't remember feeling so weak in his entire life. His right leg was more damaged and it started to tremble only two thirds through his work. He still couldn't get to the end. He didn't have the stamina or muscle power, but he kept pushing through the pain; hoping to find a reserve of strength to get him to the end.

_If he couldn't do this simple physiotherapy, what chance would he ever have of getting back to his squad?_

Crow touched his arm, ready to grip him if necessary. "C'mon, vod, don't push too hard." He stumbled as Jaro's leg buckled completely, trying to prevent him from falling but the momentum was against him and the both hit the deck. He was quickly back on his feet again, cursing and dusting down his uniform. "I told you not to push it! You'll manage when you're ready and not before. You can't just _make _it happen. You've had injuries which would be a red card for most vode; you need to take it slowly."

Jaro didn't make a move to get up. He just sat on the floor, staring in defocus at his own leg which had started to go both numb and achey at the same time. It always did when he pushed it too far. Sensations were still altered down his burned side but particularly on his leg. He felt Crow pat his shoulder to encourage him to get up.

When he got stuck on the ground, it took a bit of push and pull to get him back up because of Crow's own disability. _Why the medic with a damaged leg was sent to look after him was a mystery!_

He took a deep breath then looked up, gripping Crow's forearm so that they could start the ridiculous manoeuvre. Pushing up stretched the burns and made his weak muscles scream, forcing him to grit his teeth. Pain made him angry. Every made him angry right now. "Fek it, why do they send the cripple to help the cripple?"

There was a momentary flicker of hurt on his brother's face before the reciprocal anger started up in the 'Crow' that he had so often seen over the last few weeks. "I'm sorry the service isn't good enough for you, brother." He pulled his arm away as soon as Jaro was safely in bed. "If you need anything overnight it's Vek on duty." He turned and stalked for the doors, pausing with his hand on the control panel when Jaro called after him. He didn't turn around, he just paused; giving the impression that he would continue any moment.

"That was insensitive, Crow…" Jaro sat on the edge of his bed, staring at his brother's back. "…I'm sorry."

The reluctant medic still refused to turn around. "No, you're right. I shouldn't be your medic but I was doing it as a favour for Kohl and Ghost. I'm the only person who doesn't have another job to be doing and at least I'm not a droid." He shook his head, beginning to push the button to open but then he jerked to a halt again. "I didn't ask for this life. Nobody asked whether I wanted to be a useless burden for the rest of my life." He looked back over his shoulder but his face was caught in a shadow and his expression unreadable. "I'm only here for my squad. When they lose the fight, then I will pack it in too. I know how to make it quick and I'll be ready when that time comes." The final sentence was murmured under his breath but Jaro still caught it.

The doors slid shut with a soft hiss, leaving Jaro feeling horrendous. He's not been thinking about what he was saying. Crow had never actually been unkind to him – he was just abrupt and short tempered, which seemed to be a Wolfpack requirement – and Jaro had obviously hurt him.

All the squads were deployed on the planet below them, liberating the civilians of some shebs-end of nowhere town. It was pointless but they were supporters of the Republic and it was a big show of power to sweep in and remove the threat. That's what the Senators may think. In reality it meant many clones dying in a strategically wasteful battle. This planet could go up in a puff of smoke and nobody would care. It was poor, but it was a propaganda movement on the Republic's part, making themselves look good.

He sighed, wishing he could take back his words but it was too late for that. He could apologise in the morning. It was the only option he had.

He reached for the meds which were still sitting on the bedside table and swallowed the remainder down with water, then lined up the next dose for the morning. With that prepared, he stretched out under the blanket, closing his eyes and thinking of the brothers who were so close – merely planetside – yet they felt so far away.

* * *

It was bitterly cold at night on this miserable planet. The locals had moved back to the centre of their settlement, taking shelter in those buildings that were undamaged. Meanwhile the clone troopers guarding them were hunkered down among the scattered remains of the outskirts, doing their best make it seem homely. The threat had passed and no further droid forces were being landed; probably something to do with having the Negotiator and the Infiltrator in orbit above them. There was nothing like a Venator-class Star Destroyer to make a point…two was even better.

Now it would be about getting aid to the civilian survivors to help the settlement heal. This was the worst bit for the clones. They'd done the job and they still had to hang around doing their 'hearts and minds' role. They were all thinking of the warm shower and a square meal that they could be having when they are allowed back to the ship.

Ghost and Kohl had finished seeing the injured on to transports to had returned the spot where the tents had been set up in the lee of a crumbling wall. It offered some protection from the wind, but it was still bone-chilling. Everyone had huddled together in the tents, using body heat to make the night hours less miserable.

Mica had squeezed himself in to an impossibly small gap between Sinker and Boost, resting on his stomach to watch the card game being played. He wasn't exactly warm, and the bodysuit was beginning to smell a bit ripe, but there was no way he wanted to swap it for fatigues. It was preferable to smell a bit but be warm. Sinker had given him a few distasteful looks but it wasn't enough to make the young trooper take a hint. "We should have had some fancy gear for this. It's not like they don't shell out enough money on this war…"

"Sorry, Mi, but the heat lamp is the best we're going to get." Ghost pulled his armour off at the entrance to the large tent, stacking it beside the rest. He returned to his spot between Wolffe and Sinker, taking more care than Mica had in squeezing himself in to the gap.

They had other tents they could put up, but they had decided very quickly that less was more when it came to personal space on this mission.

And it was a pleasant, convivial atmosphere now that the threat had been neutralised. If only the temperature had been a few degrees higher it could have been almost pleasant.

Kohl wrinkled his nose as he took his spot beside Boost. "Jeez, vode, has nobody heard of personal hygiene? Have you been sharing your bad habits?" He glowered playfully at his red haired brother.

Mica pulled the neck of his bodysuit away from the skin and took a quick sniff, then did the same to Sinker, earning himself a thump and a curse of complaint. "I hate to break it to you, Kohl, but even Sinker stinks." He raised his eyebrows and tilted his head, looking vaguely apologetic. "But nobody complains about the locals. They're filthy dirty and look like they haven't seen a bath for months, but 'oh, no, they're the poor gentle folk and they can't help it'…meanwhile those of us who've been getting their shebse shot at are branded unclean…this place is not worth osik. What're we even doing here?"

Mica had a tendency to make his thoughts known and though he was often speaking for the general feeling of the squad, there were some things you should voice, regardless of how right they were.

"Mica, wind your neck in and go to sleep." Sinker had a tone which he reserved for moments like this. It was his 'no argument' tone. If you listened, he dropped the subject, but if you kept talking he would find some horrible punishment for you. He was nothing if not fair, but he was vindictively creative with his punishments.

Ghost pulled a ration bar from his belt and chewed at it, not really wanting to eat the tasteless lump but knowing that he was due a meal. No amount of training would ever make ration bars palatable. They were purely a no scent, no taste, perfectly balanced meal. There was nothing to like about them. He glanced at Wolffe who had his datapad propped on his lap but the screen had long since gone dark, yet he looked deep in thought. "Are you okay, sir?"

Wolffe jerked out of his own world of thought, looking around to make sure everyone was still occupied and to ensure that his momentary lapse had only been noticed by Ghost. "I'm fine." He leant over to tuck the datapad down beside his armour and forced himself to settle down like everyone else; at least pretend to get some sleep. "I was just thinking about Jaro."

He'd commed the injured sniper, asking how the visit went, expecting him to be upbeat and happy. Instead, the tone of the reply was despondent and more worryingly, slightly garbled. Maybe that had something to do with the fact it was the middle of the night; just because the troopers were still awake didn't mean that Jaro hadn't been fast asleep. Maybe the message had woken him.

"I spoke to him earlier and he sounded out of sorts; like he was exhausted, but he shouldn't be…"

Ghost patted the Commander's arm, searching for the right words. The healing process for a spinal injury was always going to be hard and it was perfectly feasible that the sniper would sound exhausted. Even doing a few exercises would a large task with an injury like that. "It's very hard to regain that strength. He will be tired if he's been able to keep up with the intended progress." He did his best to offer comfort where he could. "He's maybe just had a hard day. Maybe seeing his brother again was difficult. Even happy things can be draining."

Wolffe nodded slightly, pulling his blanket up over his body. "Thank you, Ghost. What would we do without your sense and kind words?" He moved to take his brother's hand and squeeze it tightly, trying to convey everything he felt for the younger man: love, protectiveness, admiration, friendship… "Goodnight, vod'ika."

* * *

_**Thanks for reading - Atin**_


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

"Are you sure this is a good idea?"

Jaro looked sceptical and unhappy as Crow helped him in to a pair of swimming shorts. He wasn't at all keen on getting in water when his body was liable to hold its own mutiny when he got tired. Falling over on dry land was sore but at least there wasn't the risk of drowning on dry land.

But Crow insisted that the buoyancy of water would be pleasant on his aches and pains, allowing him to build up strength. He had completely surprised Jaro, turning up with the repulser-chair and loading him up before he got the chance to object. Of course he had objected bitterly all the way to the gym complex, trying to annoy Crow enough to make him turn around, but the medic was stubborn and refused to even reply to his complaints.

"You are going to come in with me…aren't you?" Jaro gave his brother an almost pleading look, noting that he was still dressed in his fatigues.

Crow nodded, pointing through towards the shimmering surface of the pool. "Go and do your stretches and I'll be with you in a moment. Stay in the shallow water until I catch up." He watched Jaro limp awkwardly through the opening and in to the well-lit pool area. The sniper still had to rely on the cane to help him walk when he didn't have a wall or a brother to lean against, and his movements were almost mechanical as he thought them out carefully, but he was doing very well for a man who had been paralysed.

He changed quickly out of his own fatigues and followed, trying to slip in to the water as quickly as possible but it wasn't quick enough to prevent Jaro from getting an eyeful of his scars.

"Wayii, Crow!" The sniper had noted the deep, pitted scar that ran around Crow's shin just below the knee. It was hard not to see it…the scar was eight months old now but it would never be discrete. "You must have nearly lost that leg." _No wonder the medic limped so badly._

Crow slid in to the water, effectively hiding the scarring from view. He wasn't comfortable with anyone seeing it. He even struggled to let his squad brothers see, and they would never make negative comments or hurt his feelings. They all wanted to help him but it was as good as it would get. He'd always limp like a cripple, and it would continue to ache for the rest of his life. It wasn't just discomfort; it was the deep bone pain which often reduced him to tears. His damaged muscles would cramp up while he was asleep and his pain would wake his squad when they were off duty. Xanti would be down from the bunk above the moment Crow uttered a sound, but there was nothing he could do but comfort his brother. Short of chopping off the limb, there was no solution. If he were a commando or a ranked clone, then maybe a cybernetic would be the solution, but no ordinary trooper warranted such treatment. Really, he should have been a Kamino case, but he had leapt in to rescue the General, receiving this horrendous injury for his trouble. Plo Koon didn't see his men as disposable and he wouldn't allow them to euthanize Crow purely due to a badly broken leg, and certainly not when the injury had been gained saving his life.

The General was a good man – a kind man – and Crow didn't regret anything of his decisions, but he did sometimes reflect that maybe the Koon didn't completely understand what went through a clone's mind. That wasn't something to hold against him; how could he be expected to understand? The life of a clone was as far from normal as you could get. Saving Crow's life had given him a second chance that wouldn't normally be allowed, but the injury prevented him from returning to his normal duty as an ARF trooper with his squad. He missed riding the AT-RTs. He missed the speed of those missions, balanced with the precision and skill of scouting forward to find the enemy position. ARF troopers were a breed apart from the normal troops, but seemingly not enough to warrant the cost of a cybernetic. He was deemed a necessary sacrifice and it was only due to Plo Koon that he was still alive. He cherished every moment that his squad were on the ship with him, but the day they failed to come home would be the day he placed that hypo to his neck. It would be quick, painless and clean…he would just pass out and never wake. That comforted him in those lonely moments. He had a plan, and he lived only the time with his squad. While he still had them, he had a reason to live.

He realised that Jaro was watching him carefully, probably aware that he was lost in his own thoughts.

"Yes, Jaro, I nearly lost the leg. It healed but poorly. The muscles don't work right; they're tight and the bone aches." He gave a wry smile. "I am a cripple."

Jaro flinched, dropping his gaze. "About that…"

Crow waved him off, shaking his head. "Don't apologise. Everything you said was accurate." He moved away from the edge, leading them to a spot well away from the sides of the pool. "C'mon, let's try this. It should feel better for your muscles to work with the support of the water."

Jaro allowed himself to be manhandled, not unkindly, until he was floating on his back with Crows hands supporting him. The buoyancy was wonderful. The medic had been right; it took the pressure off of his joints and made him feel normal again. It may be temporary relief, but it was a taster of what he could have again when he regained the strength. Right now he was so weak that his own self-weight hurt his knees and his hips, but in the water that wasn't an issue and the stretches became easier.

He allowed a grin to spread across his face, stretching arms out to help keep himself afloat as Crow released him and moved back a little. "This is great!" He tentatively kicked his legs, propelling himself backwards. "I can actually move without clinging to that fekkin' cane!" _It was a precious freedom, gifted by the unconventional thinking of the medic._

Crow swam at his side, pleased to see the sniper finding pleasure in something for a change. He'd been stuck in the medbay for so long, even the change of scenery had to be good for him. Recovery was hard, especially a slow recovery like this with no finish line in sight. The next mile stone would be release from the medbay when he could stand long enough to complete his morning ablutions. And that wouldn't be too far off; today the sniper had managed to stand up – more or less, with a little assistance from the shower walls – for the time it took to wash. He'd had to sit down to shave and brush his teeth, but it was still massive progress. It was the first time he'd stayed up under his own power for that long. Usually he ended up having to sit on the stool and let Crow finish up for him, but today the medic had been a mere spectator.

It was one wobbly step towards greater freedom. Maybe he'd be back in the barracks before the men returned from the planet. That would be a wonderful surprise for them all, and a positive target for Jaro to strive towards. He was mere millimetres away from grasping that agreed milestone that Ghost had set for him, and it would be great for Ghost to return and find that he had accomplished it. And of course it would be good for Jaro as well.

This was all about baby steps, and they may not seem like much individually, but together they would pave the way towards physical and emotional healing. Crow know only too well the value that could be placed on the company of your squad. Even just going to sleep together, rather than alone in the medbay side room would make a huge difference. Every clone slept better in company, listening to the noises of those breathing around him. Considering they had learned to sleep pretty much anywhere, it was amazing the difference a bit of company made. It was one thing to snooze under a tent in a brief lull from battle, but the one thing that made it possible was the comfort of those around you. Crow never slept well when his brothers were away and it wasn't only due to the constant fear for their safety. He missed Hill's soft snoring, and he always felt something was misplaced when Xanti's arm wasn't hanging down from the bunk above. Vit was a quite sleeper but he was still a crucial part of the jigsaw; everything fitted together to create the sense of 'home' and safety. Until they returned, it was like sleeping in a strange room.

Jaro would soon be free of the clutches of the medbay, and the return to his bunk – to his squad – would be as good for his recovery as any amount of drugs. And Crow could go back to normality, without feeling the pressure of trying to care for someone when he himself was a cripple. They would both find comfort in the next steps. And, Force willing, Xanti, Vit and Hil would come home safe and sound, filling that aching void in his soul and giving him reason to keep on going just a little longer.

* * *

_**AN: This became more of a chapter about Crow, than about Jaro. He is quite a sad vod but I believe there would be many like Crow who struggle from moment to moment. Crow, in his own way, has embraced his fears and taken control. He knows how he will handle it, even if it seems like an extreme reaction, it is his way of taking control of his life...something clones have precious little of. We don't see a lot of this side of the clones - apart from Ennen the commando, because of course the cartoons are aimed to be suitable for a young audience...despite, y'know, clones being sliced in half by automatic doors (that one still horrifies me!). ~ Atin**_


	31. Chapter 31

Chapter 31

Despite the longed for freedom, when Jaro achieved his escape from the medbay six days later it turned out to be a bit of a let-down. He was lonely, despite it being no quieter than his little corner of the medbay. Every day he waited patiently, wishing that the doors to the room would open to reveal his squad mates returning. The fighting was over apparently, and now it was an aid mission.

Every day that passed made him question how much time his brothers needed to spend on this planet when the threat was already neutralised. Surely they didn't need clone soldiers to help put the civvies back on their feet. They deserved a break; a chance to get some rest properly, rather than sleeping on the ground in tents and eating tasteless, miserable rations.

He'd been sleeping alone in the barracks for a further seven days before they returned and during that time he had worked out how to slice in to his own medical records and make amendments to the drug records. Crow's brothers had arrived back safely – dismissed early since they'd been on planet longer than anyone else doing recon work – so it was now a mix of medbay technicians, med droids and only very occasionally Crow himself that visited Jaro to check up on him and go through the exercises. This meant that nobody was attending him consistently enough to notice subtle changes in the documentation, and they didn't need to know that he'd already been given a pack of meds from someone else the day before. Now he was amassing a decent collection in his drawer under his bunk, keeping it folded under his spare clean bodysuits that had been untouched since that fated mission months ago.

Someone had kindly placed a fresh bodysuit in the drawer to replace the one that had been cut from his body and destroyed. That showed they wanted him to come back – to live – they'd been rooting for him from the start.

He requested the meds from every rotating medical visitor he could get away with, ensuring that each prescription was deleted from his file afterwards so that nobody realised that he was being given so many. This would give him enough of a surplus to balance any lean times when Ghost inevitable started to wean him off. He swallowed down the allowed dose each day, letting them comfort his fears and still the tremble in his hands.

He began to find himself wishing he could take just one more towards the end of the day, but he resisted the urge; ensuring that he only placed each daily allowance on top of the bodysuit, leaving the rest hidden from temptation.

He was happily snoozing in a freshly drugged haze when his wishes were fulfilled and the barrack-room door slid open and the tired footsteps marked the entrance of far more than a medical visitor. He forced himself upright with effort, leaning against the wall and blinking to clear his eyes. "Vode?"

Mica was first through the door, limping slightly with his arm around Boost's shoulders. He was smiling though, which was a relief. "Jaro! How long have you been back in here?" He flopped down on his own bunk opposite and reached for the buckles on his boots. "I have blisters on my blisters…you're lucky you weren't on that one. Ungrateful shabla civvies; we nearly two weeks clearing up the debris and setting them up with decent facilities to get them going again and the fekkin' grit gets everywhere. It's like sandpaper in your bodysuit and I won't bother telling you where it all gathers…I'm sure you can speculate on that in your own good time." He pulled his boots off with a hiss of breath, peeling away his socks to look at the sore patches on his feet with good natured disgruntlement.

Jaro found himself laughing quietly despite his grumpy reputation. Mica had this way of making everything seem funny, even his aching feet. "I'm glad it's only those minor injuries that are bothering you." He glanced around them all. Ghost, Sinker and Kohl had trailed in and shut the door behind them. They all looked tired and fed up, but there was still that happy air that came with returning from a campaign and seeing your own bunk for the first time in many weeks. "Are you all well?" He couldn't stop himself from giving the once over with his eyes; checking for anything out of the ordinary.

It was Ghost who approached him and squatted down in front of the bunk with a grin plastered on his face. "We're well, my brother, and so are you. You're getting about under your own steam again?" He waited for Jaro's permission, then pushed back the blanket and gave him a discreet check over. Nobody was paying too much attention anyway. The driving desire for the squad right now seemed to be the luxury of a hot shower and then some shut eye in a comfy bed. He ran a gentle but firm hand down the weakened muscles. "How's the pain?"

Jaro shrugged, allowing himself to slump back against the mattress again to save his strength. He was tired and for once he was thankful. It meant that nobody would try to get him up to show off his paces for them. Everyone wanted to get some rest, himself included. "It's manageable. It comes and goes now but it's not so bad."

They both turned to glance over Ghost's shoulder. Mica had limped across to Sinker, trying to get a little sympathy from the Sergeant. He had carefully peeled off his bodysuit and stood there, brushing away any sand that still clung to his skin and emptied the garment upside down to show just how much grit had gathered. "Look…no wonder my shebs have been like sandpaper…"

Sinker yowled a complaint, pushing him away and brushing the dust off his blanket. "Don't empty your personal desert all over my bed, rookie!" He was in the process of removing his own undergarments and shaking out much smaller clouds of dust. "You just need to learn how to get washed up without coming away with half the terrain stuck to you."

Mica shoved the dirty bodysuit in to the laundry and picked up a towel from the shelf, mumbling under his breath. "You try washing in a fekkin' bucket, in a tent so the civvies don't have their delicate sensibilities upset, and see if you can avoid finishing up dirtier than you started."

Jaro watched the youngest member of the squad retreat to the 'fresher then exchanged a raised eyebrow with Ghost. "How did you end up with sand inside a vacuum proof kit?"

A broad grin spread across Boost's face and Kohl cast his red haired brother a weary look. It had been a long time spent cramped up in to tents with extremely crude facilities.

"You don't want to know, Jar'ika, honestly; in this case, ignorance is bliss."

* * *

**_Thanks for reading. Just a little reunion today. ~Atin_**


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

It was the worst message to ever receive and it instantly brought down Wolffe's mood on what should be the first day back on ship and a chance to relax a little. He had checked his datapad before getting out of bed, enjoying the luxury of a little lie in, and skipping through the messages at double speed to get an idea of what his day might hold for him, the sight of Bacara's designation made him pause.

He like the Galactic Marine Commander and found him a likable man despite his reputation as a loner. Bacara was quiet – he did stand out a little due to his training – but he was a highly efficient soldier and he led an elite force, much like Wolffe's 104th Battalion. He liked to see Bacara as a comrade in the elite clone forces; there were ground troops, and then there were those they called in to save the day, and the Wolfpack and Marines fell in to that second category regularly.

But, for the first time, the message from his brother was unwelcome.

_How was he going to handle this one?_

He was still running it round and round his head when he strode down the halls, dressed in his off duty fatigues. Technically, he was on his forty-eight hour break but of course he'd still try to get some work done. There were reports to write about the successful mission and he preferred to get it done rather than have it hanging over his head. But he could do all that in fatigues and get a break from the restrictive armour for a while.

He was so absorbed in the problem that he would have collided with the General as he passed the offices on his way to the mess if it weren't for the Jedi's natural grace. He caught himself and turned, snapping off a hasty salute. "Sorry, sir!"

The Kel Dor gave him a careful look, feeling the trepidation swirling around the young Commander like mist. "Are you having some problem, Commander?" He never looked in to the mind of his men, but he couldn't avoid feeling the stress that was emanating in waves. "Can I help you with anything?"

Wolffe huffed out a breath, scraping his hand back through his hair, making it stand on end. "I'm fine, sir. I just have some bad news and I'm working out how best to break it." He shifted to a parade rest, clasping his hands behind his back. "Sir…maybe you would be a better messenger than me. You've got a better way with people, and I really don't want to be the one to upset him…"

Koon stepped forward and placed a clawed hand on Wolffe's arm. "Commander, you are a competent, caring leader and every member of this battalion looks up to you. You'll be fine, I'm sure, but if you would like to talk about it first, then I'm always available." He felt the ripple of anxiety peak and then calm a little as resignation set in. "Just be yourself, Commander."

Wolffe looked up sharply, suddenly feeling as if he'd been laid bare. He knew the General would never push in to his mind and read his thoughts…had he projected something?

The Jedi squeezed his shoulder, his face moving in what Wolffe had learned to be the equivalent of a smile. "Nothing that couldn't be read by anyone who knows you well enough, son."

* * *

The unfortunate downside to the return of the troops was the sudden influx of men everywhere. Jaro had been able to get his meals without bumping in to anyone other than droids for the days he'd been back in the barracks, but now there were brothers everywhere.

It had already been a bad start to the day because he'd slipped on the wet floor in the fresher, narrowly avoiding cracking his head thanks to Kohl's lightening quick reactions. He hadn't been hurt, but it had still shaken his confidence although he wouldn't let his squad know that. It hadn't been his own weakness; it was pure bad luck but his impaired balance had prevented him stopping his fall.

And now he had to hobble his way down to the mess and get himself fed without making a fool of himself. Nobody could see the scars on his body under the long sleeved fatigues, but he couldn't hide his face. He'd even attempted to let the rest of his beard grow in rather than just the goatee, but it grew patchy around the scars and made it even more obvious and he'd shaved it off again, returning to his usual style. He always wore his hair combed back neatly, relatively long on top and clipped short back and sides. It had been his chosen hairstyle since he graduated and he had no desire to change it, but he couldn't help noticing the grey hairs beginning to grow in where the scarring on his temple met his hairline.

_Maybe he could pass that off as distinguished? _

He joined the queue in the mess, glad to see that his squad weren't in just now. They'd come for breakfast earlier than he had. Jaro himself had taken to lingering so that he could take his meds away from prying eyes, and after the shower mishap, he had shoved an extra dose in his pocket just in case the day carried on going rotten. He touched his hand to his hip to ensure that they were still there as he moved along behind the trooper in front, taking up a tray from the pile.

The options were the same as always and he didn't even need to think about what he was putting on his tray. Grey, tasteless nutrient porridge and a mug of caf laced with plenty of sugar. It was his usual breakfast because at least the porridge was tepid and it set him up with a solid meal in his belly…not that he needed it right now. He didn't have any work to do, no job to prepare for. All he did was hobble around for a short while then collapse on the bunk and sleep like an infant.

It was difficult to manoeuvre around with the cane and then the tray balanced in one hand. He either had to carry the tray in his weak hand – which ran the risk of spilling it all – or take his weight on to the cane with the bad arm. He chose the latter and tried to compensate but today it was just all going wrong for him.

He managed to get himself to a seat and shovel the meal down his throat, but when he got up to put the tray away for cleaning, he missed a step and tripped over his own foot. His ankle buckling with the unexpected pressure of the fall, sending him tumbling towards the floor. His tray hit the ground with a clatter, the bowl skidded across the floor and turning the head of every man in the mess, but he didn't hit the floor himself. He seemed to have fallen forward against an invisible buffer that tipped him back on to his feet again.

He grabbed at the nearest object which happened to be a clear-up droid which took umbrage at the intrusion and tried to keep moving forward, squawking indignantly and forcing Jaro to stumble a few steps at its side before a kindly brother reached out to help him.

He grabbed the arm with relief before looking up and realising that it was not a brother, but in fact, the General. He tried to stand up straight and salute but he would have toppled again. "Sir, I'm sorry, I had no idea it was you!"

Plo Koon shook his head, lifting the fallen cane with the force and returning it to the injured sniper so that he could regain his own balance. "Not at all, Jaro. Let's just get you sat down again." He guided him to the nearest chair, using the force to subtly help him. "I believe the Commander is looking for you, let me just comm him and see if he can come and meet you here. I'll just be a moment."

Jaro didn't get a chance to object – not that he could object to his most senior officer. So instead he sat unhappily, feeling as if every eye were upon him. They'd all seen him fail.

He reached in to his pocket, closing his fist around the small pills hidden within. It was easy to secrete them in his palm without anyone realising and then - under the guise of rubbing his face sleepily – he popped them in to his mouth without anyone being wise to his actions. He could tell anyone that they were just pain relief, but it was still better that nobody noticed anyway. He swallowed them down, knowing he was now above that magic stated dose but the standard wasn't enough. He still felt that fear, paranoia and terror when faced with failing in front of his brothers.

He was beginning to feel the calm wash over his body when the Commander appeared at his side, also dressed in the maroon fatigues which made him look surprisingly young compared to the armour.

Wolffe squatted down by his side, using the table for balance. "Are you okay? General Plo said you nearly fell?"

Jaro felt the heat in his cheeks, turning his head away so that the normal side of his face was pointed towards the Commander. "I'm fine, sir. I've just been having a clumsy day today…coordination failing me a bit."

Wolffe nodded absently, as if his mind were on other matters. "I need to speak to you; would you mind coming back to my quarters with me where it's a bit quieter." He could really take him to his office but that was further to walk, especially if Jaro was struggling. He stood up and offered a hand.

Jaro managed to get up out of the seat without needing the assistance, limping carefully out of the mess before allowing himself to sag when he was out of eyesight from the men. His back ached and the pain was throbbing up and down from his hips to his knees. He would have stumbled again but Wolffe caught him gently, seeming to know where the most painful scars were located and avoiding them with his hands. "C'mon, Jaro, take my arm." He offered his arm to the sniper, indicating that he should use it as a second support. "There's no shame in accepting a little help, and nobody will see anyway. You're a miracle as it is, don't put too much pressure on yourself to surface even miracles."

Jaro reluctantly accepted the assistance, taking Wolffe's arm and letting him lead the way slowly along the hall.

It did make life a lot easier but by the time they'd traversed the hallways as far as the barracks again a whole new issue was coming to light. His breakfast – be it bland as can be – was beginning to churn unpleasantly in his stomach and he was getting a little light headed. He ground to a halt and almost froze in panic, releasing Wolffe's arm so that he could put a hand to his stomach as if hoping to hold it all in place.

Wolffe slipped an arm around his waist, noting the pallor that had crept over his brother in the passing few moments. "Are you okay?" He was concerned and he knew it would show in his tone, but he didn't care at that moment. "Just a little further and you can sit down." He guided him forward, watching him like a hawk.

Once inside his room, he set him down carefully on the bunk, considering reaching for the waste bin but he seemed to be holding out okay. "Let me get you some water. Just lie down for a few minutes until you feel better again."

He moved across the small room to collect a full bottle of water, returning to place it on the floor by the bunk for whenever it was needed.

The sniper was curled up on his side, eyes closed against the battle going on in his stomach and his head. He felt like he were on water and it was like being seasick – not that he'd ever been seasick himself, but he imagined this must be what it felt like. He'd only once been on a vessel in water and it had made his stomach feel rather delicate, although not quite as bad as this. It felt like his stomach had risen to his throat and any misplaced movement would tip the fine balance of control he'd reined in.

He could feel Wolffe rubbing his back but he daren't peek open an eye in case the room lurched. Instead he focused on the touch, using it as an anchor against the desolate black misery. The Commander was surprisingly tender and his hands were a perfect combination of hard and soft.

He didn't meant to sleep, but he found himself slipping in to unconsciousness as those gentle hands relaxed him. A small part of his mind was screaming at him. _This is the Commander's bunk. It even smells like him…you can't go to sleep here!_ But the overpowering drugs were refusing to listen and he was incapable of doing anything but go along for the ride.

* * *

_**Thanks for reading. I'm on a roll just now! All the Celebration pictures, news etc has been fuelling my enthusiasm...not that it had dwindled any, but now it is a raging furnace! ~ Atin**_


	33. Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Having Jaro fall asleep hadn't quite been Wolffe's plan, but it was a temporary reprieve. It would give him time to plan how best to break the news to him. Just blurting it out would seems simplest, but he knew that it was a hell of a thing to drop on him like that. But equally, he couldn't think of any way to ease the crushing blow.

He took the opportunity to go through some reports to distract himself. It was difficult with Jaro stretched out asleep only a few feet away from him. The sniper didn't snore, but he made soft noises that Wolffe took to be dreams.

He worked on for hours, writing up the details of the mission until Ghost poked his head in searching for Jaro. Wolffe raised a finger to his lips, chiding the medic and making him come to a sudden halt. "He's sleeping off a bad morning."

Ghost looked from the sleeping sniper to the waste paper bin that had been placed strategically by the bunk. "What's wrong?" He would have moved to wake his brother and check him over, but Wolffe deflected him before he could cross the room. "Sir, I can take him to his bunk…it's only twenty metres down the hall."

Wolffe shook his head, wrapping an arm around Ghost's shoulder and turning him back towards the door. "You're off duty, vod'ika. It's fine…I'm in here anyway and I quite like the company." He tried to shoo the medic away before he could wake Jaro. He didn't want him to wake up and panic that he was in the Commander's bunk and feel he had to high tail it out again. As much as he would have to dish out the horrible news at some point, he was hoping to be able to help the sniper a little and if he panicked then that wouldn't happen. He'd missed him while they were on planet, and he never found his mind dragged away from the mission usually. It wasn't like him at all and it was a little disconcerting to find his mind trapped in thoughts and concerns for the grumpy sniper.

He hadn't had the chance to visit him the first night back because there was so much to be organised – as in any return to the ship – but when he'd heard from the General and found out about the accident in the medbay, his heart had gone out to the unfortunate brother. Wolffe had experienced his own wide range of issues with his cybernetic, and he was well aware of just how much you could struggle and keep hiding it no matter how hard it became. He'd clipped walls, misjudged distances and fallen up – and down – stairs while trying to adapt, and his fear had never been the unintentional injuries that occurred due to his clumsiness; instead it was the fear of brothers seeing him weak that plagued his mind.

Ghost allowed himself to be politely pointed towards the door, but he couldn't help himself from giving his Commander a scrutinising look. There was something going on and he didn't know what it was, but Wolffe usually enjoyed his peace and quiet. That had been part of the reason Ghost had come along intending to relieve him of the burden of 'minder'. "Are you sure, sir? Need I remind you that you are also meant to be off duty?!" _Only a medic would use that line with the Commander._

"I appreciate the effort, Ghost, but I'm only on half-duty. I'm just writing up reports; nothing strenuous." Wolffe glanced back at the sleeping sniper again. "He happy to have him here. If I have any issues I'll call you, but I'm sure I can keep him comfortable."

He waited patiently until Ghost left, then shut the door and turned to return to his desk. He paused to look down at the sniper, resisting a sudden overwhelming urge to brush back the hair that had fallen in his face. A little glow inside him wanted to sit down on the bunk and stroke his hair or his cheek, just to feel the warmth of his skin. It was a completely irrational desire and he forced himself to continue forward in to his 'fresher to splash cold water on his face, hoping to jolt himself out of this mind-set before it got him in to trouble.

When he returned to his room, the golden brown eyes were open, squinting sleepily at him. He felt his mouth go dry and he moved forward, lifting his chair and moving it over beside the bunk. He sat down tentatively, as if he expected there to be a mini sarlaac hiding in the chair.

_It was now or never...he didn't want to do it but he had to._

"I've got something I need to tell you." He wanted nothing more than to turn and run, maybe beg the General to do this instead. "I got a message from Commander Bacara this morning that I need to pass on to you." Instead of carrying on, he reached behind him to get the datapad from the desk and pulled up the relevant file, offering it to Jaro to read himself. He waited, watching the emotions cross his face. "I'm so very sorry…"

Jaro didn't say anything…he didn't do anything…but he did begin to pale considerably.

It was a KIA notice; nothing gory but it was still too much for him right at that moment. He made to stand up, needing to get to the 'fresher, but Wolffe placed a firm hand on his shoulder, preventing him from rising but helping him to twist over the side of the bed to where the durasteel bin had been placed for this very purpose. He didn't even have the strength to argue. All he could do was retch and cough miserably as his breakfast made a reappearance. He'd thought the nausea had gone but it didn't take much to get it back again. Just skim reading the details of the report was enough.

Wolffe was out of his chair and on the bunk by his side, helping him to sit up carefully so that he could wrap himself around the bin. The Commander's hands were on his shoulders, running firmly back and forward, keeping him grounded while his mind wanted to fly away with him.

He'd never get the image out of his head. And now he was the only one still standing…all that was left of his special squad of sniper vode. It had been hard to accept that there as only himself and Olvi left…and now that Olvi had passed on, it was just him.

_How can I do this?_

He must have said it out loud because Wolffe moved closer, loosely wrapping an arm around his shoulders.

"We're all here for you, vod'ika. You're part of this family as well." The Commander's tone was soft and gentle – quite at odds with his intimidating appearance.

He didn't want to cry, because he'd already made enough of a fool of himself by getting sick – and in the Commanders' room no less - but he couldn't stop the pressure wave of tears behind his eyes. He couldn't even get up and move away to hide them because he was too exhausted by the emotions.

Instead he allowed himself to be half hugged, desperately trying to keep his sniffling to a minimum, but he knew it was a losing battle and that soon this would all be mopping up fully fledged tears with the sleeve of his tunic.

There was nothing he could do but slump on the bunk and try to process the message, taking as much comfort as he would allow from the warm, hard body by his side. There were worse places to be. He just wished that he could share some close time like this without the overwhelming feeling of loss which had brought him closer.

* * *

_**AN: I'm sorry, Olvi! This was a hard one to write - I couldn't get the flow going...because the characters are awkward together as well, which doesn't help. I know, a bad workman blames his tools! ~ Atin**_


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

Wolffe had waited until Jaro's silent tears came to a halt, before moving to clean up the bin and bring some water for his brother to rinse his mouth. He wanted to do something to show that he cared, but he didn't know what to do; how best to proceed when it was clear that this trooper was struggling.

So instead, he sat down beside him on the bunk – not pushing him to speak, but just making it clear that he was here whenever he was ready. He had no idea what might be said, if anything, and he even had a small inkling that the sniper may take a swing at him if he played this wrong.

It was a long hush before Jaro spoke…at least twenty minutes of complete, but comfortable, silence between them.

"I'm scared that I won't be able to shoot well enough anymore."

That wasn't what Wolffe had expected to hear and it instantly harked back to his fear about the facial wound so close to the eye. He didn't want to get in his face to look at it, so he kept his voice level and calm. "Have you spoken to Ghost about your concerns?"

Jaro shook his head slightly, raising a hand to touch the scars around his right eye. "It's okay day to day; not perfect 20/20 anymore, but fine for regular purposes." He stared at the opposite wall, closing his good eye to gauge the loss of vision. "…but it's changed colour and gone more greenish brown, and it's just not perfect anymore. What if it deteriorates?" The fear was evident in his voice.

"Ghost or Kohl can do a more thorough investigation if you ask, but if they've left it alone they probably think it's pretty stable." It was treading dangerous territory. He didn't want to upset him – scare him – and he also wanted to keep the conversation open. Jaro didn't open up and talk easily and there was no way he was going to shut that down if he could avoid it. "I know it's hard to adapt, but it _will _be okay."

Jaro hung his head, subconsciously rubbing the scars. "It's never going to go away." He growled, digging his nails in to his cheek, almost as if he could dig out the damaged flesh and tear it away. "They're so extensive, and my…my hair's growing in grey around it. It looks terrible and everyone's going to think of those before they think of who I am. I will be known as the one with the scars…the mad one…the scary one…" His voice had descended in to muttering rambles as his distress grew exponentially.

"Let me look." Wolffe placed his hands on either side of Jaro's face, feeling him flinch at the touch on his scars. "Does that hurt you?" His voice was all soft concern.

"It doesn't hurt…I just…I just feel-"

"-like it hurts you inside?" Wolffe felt that pain in his own chest; remembering it. He remembered misreading every look, assuming that his brothers would find the scar repulsive. He'd wasted so long in that terrible mind set, but it was part of the emotional healing. He deliberately ran his thumb across the deep ridges that ran down from the sniper's damaged eye, watching him shudder and squeeze his eyes shut to block it all out. "Jar', open your eyes."

He waited patiently, knowing the silent battle that was going on inside his brother's mind. To shut your eyes was to block out the fear. It was the simplest form of evasion but that didn't make it any easier to step out from that shadow. He kept his eyes fixed forward until Jaro finally blinked his eyes open, meeting him with his own mismatched gaze; natural deep brown and that startling speckled hazel. _Well done my sweet brothe_r. "Ori'jate, ner cyar'vod." He kept his hands in place, firm enough to hold him still but without making him feel trapped. His brother shuddered again, blinking slowly but still meeting his eyes; seemingly captivated in that moment. Anything could be going on around them and it would make no difference. It was as if there was a bubble around them, sealing them away from the rest of the universe.

He took a steadying breath to still his own sudden flurry of nerves, keeping his hands on place as he closed the gap between them. It was like kissing a rock for the first second before Jaro relaxed a little, then finally returned this kiss.

It was little more than a peck – and they both had the giddy fluttering like teenage cadets – but it was enough to make Jaro relax. Of all the possible things the Commander could have done to him, this was about as far from the top of the expected list as you could ever believe, but it was one of the most pleasant surprises he'd ever experienced.

_Had he been missing some subtle clue all along? _

They'd been at each other's throats until his accident, and then the Commander had become abruptly warmer towards him, even if still a little distant.

"Sir?"

"Those scars…" Wolffe ran his finger down the marks, starting at Jaro's temple, past his eye and down his cheek, tracing the worst line where the beam had cracked across his head. He let his fingers trace across his jaw, briefly touching his lips before running down his throat and coming to a halt at the collar of his fatigues. "Those scars are not a mark of failure. They are a medal of honour; they show your skill, your determination and your bravery. You stood up to defend your brothers…"

Jaro shook his slightly, breaking eye contact to follow Wolffe's hand which had dropped to rest at his waist, right where the lightsaber burn was. "I tried to kill myself, sir…that's hardly brave." He sucked in a breath as the Commander's fingers slipped under his tunic to stroke the scar on his stomach.

"Don't...if you'd wanted to do that, you could have put your deece to your head anytime. We're not lacking in ways to end our life. You stood your ground to protect your brothers… and you saved Rhen's life hours before that. You're an extremely brave man." His fingers were on the sniper's hip now, exploring the rippled, damaged skin.

It was enough to spark joy in Jaro's belly but the messages just still seemed to get lost in transition. He should be showing this excitement extremely clearly – he had caught Wolffe out the corner of his eye, although he was diligently keeping his eyes up – but ever since the paralysis, he had struggled to get any rise going. It was worrying…demoralising…and he found himself wanting to retreat in to himself. He really was an incomplete man now, and it wasn't like he could exercise _that _back.

Wolffe moved his hands to lift his chin and kiss him again, lingering longer this time before moving back enough to speak. "Give it time. You're doing so well, vod'ika…you were paralysed, and now you're back on your feet. Just give everything time to repair; don't put pressure on yourself unnecessarily."

Jaro felt the jolt of surprise; Wolffe had known exactly what he was worrying about without him even opening his mouth. He tentatively leant in to instigate a kiss, running an enquiring finger along his brother's scar. Wolffe had closed his eyes, allowing him to trace it across his eyelid and down his to his cheekbone. "I've always wanted to do that…"

Wolffe smiled that characteristic half smirk. "It's no different to yours." He'd had his own personal demons about his scar but he'd overcome them and he knew Jaro could do the same. And he was determined he was going to help him appreciate how beautiful they could be; he'd not seen the sniper naked since the accident, but he was still sure that every mark indelibly on his skin would just act to define the already perfect canvas.

Scars were medals of honour, and of all men, Wolffe understood their emotional baggage and he would use this to help his brother regain his self-confidence.

"It's going to be okay, cyar'vod."

* * *

_**Well, they got there! I tried hard to keep them both in character this time but to also get some closeness - some care - showing between them! Fingers crossed that it reads okay. Wolffe/Jaro and Haastal has had me banging my head off the wall because I couldn't get them together right without messing up their personalities, but I feel good about this attempt...maybe! ~ Atin**_


	35. Chapter 35

Chapter 35

The ship was crawling with Togrutans of all shapes, sizes and ages.

They were in the medbay, the mess…the 'freshers on that deck had been set aside for the rescued slaves to use…there was a distinct lack of Togrutan free space.

The General and the Commander were still standing in the middle of the bustling hanger bay with Generals Skywalker and Kenobi, Commander Tano and Captain Rex. Wolffe stood at that stiff parade rest which they all knew meant he was dozing in his bucket, but he was obliged to at least look like he was paying attention to the Jedi's endless talk. There was a hint of a humour in Plo Koon's otherwise sedate air which suggested he also knew just how fed up of the whole hero worship Wolffe was.

Jaro sat on an ammo crate, alternately watching the huddle of superiors and his brothers as they disembarked yet more slaves. He had abandoned his cane now but he still sat down whenever he had the opportunity. He just didn't have the strength that he used to. He didn't eat as much; he always felt sick and the lowered calorie intake was showing in general exhaustion. He'd also lost more weight than he would have believed he had available to lose! Ghost was concerned, but short of spoon feeding him, there wasn't a lot he could do apart from encourage him to eat extra portions…and that was a hard task considering the tasteless nature of the mess meals. If he continued dropping weight then there was the threat of a feeding tube and the concentrated medical feed that was given to those men who were recovering and unable to eat solid food. So far he had convinced Ghost that he was making an effort to eat enough.

He felt a little guilty for worrying the medic so much and deliberately misleading him, but if Ghost got him in the medbay then he'd be monitoring his intake of meds and that couldn't happen.

His dosage had gradual crept up, every little moment of fear, weakness…pain; he popped another one of those innocuous little pills and it became okay again.

_For a while._

_And then he needed more._

To begin with it hadn't made much difference, but he was beginning to feel the side effects now. Persistent nausea, vomiting if he tipped the balance too far, increased heart rate…but undoubtedly the most awkward was the sudden, desperate urge to urinate, only to make it to the 'fresher and find he couldn't do much more than a dribble. He'd spent an inordinate amount of time staring at the tiles, willing something to happen and hoping nobody would come in. He'd expected the gastric side of the symptoms, but a brief search had shown that urinary retention was also related to the overdosing of the meds.

_That was fine…as long as it was 'normal'…he knew he didn't have some other problem brewing up. _

As long as nobody caught him cursing at the urinal he was all good. Boost had already teased him about drinking too much caf because of his frequent visits but he'd let the squad believe that. It made for a convenient excuse.

He watched Wolffe shift his weight subtly – not visible to anyone but a fellow clone. He could hear the sigh in his head and picture that eye roll that the Commander had perfected so well.

_He was bored. The armour jetpack was heavy and would be making his back ache. The armour would pinch more._

Mica stopped by his side, arm thrown around a limping female slave, most likely on their way to the medbay. "Hi, Jar'. How much longer do you think he'll tolerate?" He had a grin on his face, knowing full well the Commander's temper and his dislike for the young Commander Ahsoka.

Jaro tilted his head, trying to ignore the persistent headache behind his eyes. "Can you blame him? The Wolfpack sweeps in to the rescue…Admiral Coburn actually succeeds in bringing the flagship in right under that force-forsaken facility…our squad go topside and bring everyone in safely amidst heavy fire…and our pilots and the General take out the opposition…and who's getting the credit; who is it that the leader is talking to? Commander Tano…a youngling who did nothing but call in our assistance." He was angry and it probably showed in the tone of his voice. The more he thought about it, the angrier he got.

Nobody knew about his relationship – if a few exchanged kisses could be called such - with Wolffe.

The Commander had been so busy he hadn't had much time with him away from the others. They'd spent some time talking about the scars – and the psychological struggle – but he still felt incredibly self-conscious about them, and that fekkin' Togrutan hanging off Mica's armour was staring at them with surprise on her pretty little face.

He growled, showing his teeth in a feral grin that was all menace.

Who was she to stare? She'd be pulp at the bottom of that mine if it weren't for his brothers. What was she worth to them…what were any of these individuals worth?

_Nothing_.

And still, here they were with a ship over run by them.

Mica was giving him a look, seeming surprised by the feral display of threat but Jaro felt like he was cornered. They were all staring at him…this scarred, limping clone who wore no armour.

He pushed to his feet, struggling to steady himself with the sudden movement. He shouldn't try to move so fast because his balance was still shot but he had this driving need to get away from the Togrutan imposters.

He limped out of the hanger as fast as he could, running a hand along the smooth durasteel walls to aid his balance. Fumbling in his pocket he managed to find another pill. He'd already turned to his secret stash for extra help earlier in the day, when his squad had been hustled out on this absurd rescue mission. As always, he had to stay behind and fret about them being so vulnerable up top while he stayed inside.

He ducked past more of the tail-heads, waiting until he was out of eyesight of any brothers before shoving two more pills in to his mouth. He held them on his tongue for a second then grabbed one back out again. It was sticky and dissolving already. This would take him to three times the prescribed daily dose…four times if he took the second one.

_What difference was it now? He needed it and surely it didn't matter. He would take less tomorrow…balance it out a little. They were only anti-depressants…only helping his anxiety…it wasn't as if they were powerful pain meds or anything like that._

He cursed and stuck the half sucked pill back in his mouth, swallowing them both and heading for the mess. His brothers would be congregating there when they were finished since they'd missed their dinner due to that unexpected call to arms. If he went back to their quarters it laid him open to questions…Ghost and Kohl would be asking if he were okay…it was easier to stick with the rest and show he was okay.

_Or not okay._

He _was _okay.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36

Rex finally managed to get himself free from the Generals for long enough to sneak further away from the Togrutan infested area to get a shower. He had been given a change of clothes since he was still wearing the civvie rig but it had taken ages to finally get free long enough to leave the immediate area without someone calling him back for something. The 'freshers and showers immediate to the mess had been set aside for the Togrutans – one for males and the other for females – so he had to make his way back through the corridors to one of the smaller 'fresher blocks. At least every flagship had the same layout so it was like a home away from home.

He stepped in and scanned the room. It was empty apart from one flash of deep maroon under the door of one stall. Perfect – peace and quiet for a nice long shower, maybe even a doubler – he'd been stuck shovelling ore and the grime felt deeply imbedded in to his skin. Undoubtedly he's unearth a few decent bruises in the unveiling but that always came with the territory.

Working with Anakin Skywalker could be hard on the body.

He stripped out of the civvie clothing and stepped on to the sloping tiled flooring, hitting the controls for the shower and feeling the sheer joy of hot water over his skin. The simple pleasures truly were the best.

When the three minute timer shut the water off, he just slapped it again and carried on, tipping his face up to let the warmth run over his hair so that he could scrub out the dirt. He didn't feel as guilty as he might usually have done for using twice the intended water consumption since he was sure those Togrutans wouldn't be taking prompt three minute showers either, and if you can't beat them, join them. Six minutes of luxurious warmth.

He dried up when the timer switched off again, pulling on the fatigues that had been kindly given to him by one of the Wolfpack and heading back towards the door.

The flash of red in the single occupied stall hadn't seemed to have moved any. He'd assumed the brother would have left by the time he'd washed and dressed.

He stepped across and knocked lightly on the door. "Vod? Everything okay in there?"

The silence in the tiled room seemed to echo all around him, but no reply was forthcoming.

"Brother?"

He looked up at the top of the stall door, considering his options. There didn't seem to be all that many; he couldn't walk away and his gut instinct was worrying at him, and he'd found it wise to listen to his gut. It often seemed to catch on quicker than the rest of him.

He bounced on his toes and launched himself up, scrambling up to see over the partition.

"Aww, fek."

He couldn't get the purchase to squeeze through the gap and had to drop back down again. He grabbed his comm, knowing the only person he could contact was Ahsoka or Skywalker. He didn't have the frequency of the Wolfpack.

The Togrutan Commander was first to answer. "Hey, Rexter, where are you?"

"Ahsoka, you need to find a medic…and Commander Wolffe, or General Plo…anyone you can find, but I need a medic, asap. Send them to this location and hurry!"

There was a microsecond where he could hear the questions lining up.

"Ahsoka…now!"

He shoved the comm in his pocket and tried to barge the door open with his shoulder but they opened out the way and he couldn't break the lock by shoving it in this direction.

He'd need a leg up to get over the partition.

There was nothing he could do as he waited for help to arrive. He'd seen trooper suicide before and they usually took their life with a deece. It was quick and efficient, but there was no blood…no weapon…just a brother slumped in the cramped space, leaning against the door.

He didn't know if he was dead, or merely unconscious.

He heard thudding footsteps sprinting along the corridor towards him and stood back, ready to let help through.

It was Wolffe who came thundering through the door first, his eyes instantly passing Rex and assessing the situation. He didn't pause to speak to the Captain; he wrenched open the clips of his torso armour, letting the plates fall to the floor with a clatter, then leapt for the top of the door. He got shoulders through the gap so that he could see and confirm his fear. "Fek, Jar'ika…fek." He dropped back down and tugged off the rest of his armour with a speed that Rex could barely follow, then attacked the partition again, heaving himself up and through the gap with an unprecedented burst of power and determination. He had to squirm through the gap between the top of the partition and the ceiling because it was barely wide enough for a muscular trooper, but he was going through one way or the other.

Coming down the other side was not so elegant or successful. There was very little space and he didn't want to land on Jaro…equally he didn't want to put his foot in the 'fresher.

Rex watched Wolffe disappear down the other side with a thud and a string of curses. The medics had caught up with them now; both in medbay fatigues and panting heavily, most likely having sprinted from their duty post. "Commander, the medics are here, sir."

"Sir, status?" Kohl skidded to a halt, staring at the closed door as if he could melt it with his very eyes.

Wolffe struggled to make a rapid assessment within the confined space. "He's breathing, his pulse is flying…he's been sick, a lot." He reached up and pulled the lock back, having to fight to prevent them both toppling as the door swung open.

Ghost leapt forward and tugged Jaro out in to the open space, running the scanner over his brother to get his vitals. His heart really was racing. "He's tachycardic. We need to get him back to the medbay." He watched Kohl draw a blood sample for analysis. "This is too sudden to be illness…he was fine this morning, we would have seen him coming down with a virus. We need to check that blood."

Technically, Kohl was a higher ranking medic but he seemed happy to take Ghost's instruction. Medic's generally didn't argue – rank meant little, it was all about helping the patient – and Jaro was still very much Ghost's patient despite him being out of the medbay. "Okay, I'll get that going straight away. We need to get a stretcher along here-"

"I'll take him." Wolffe didn't let the medic finish his sentence. There was no way he was wasting any time. Jaro's breathing was shallow and he'd read the vitals from Ghost's datapad and seen his heart rate. There was no way he could sustain that; they needed to get him stabilised or he'd be at serious risk of heart attack.

He carefully gathered him up, accepting Rex's assistance to get him up and settled in his arms. The sniper had lost so much weight it didn't feel like lifting a brother; under the ubiquitous fatigues, he was sheer skin and bone.

_How had nobody noticed?_

Clone troopers ranged in exact body types depending on their skill set and exercise regime, and Jaro had never been as muscled as Wolffe, but this was far more than just lean muscle…it was underweight. It didn't take much for the weight to drop away due to the high metabolism. If Jaro had been ill even a short period of time, the lack of calorific intake would show, especially considering the healing his body was going through and the increased effort it took to complete day to day tasks.

Wolffe led the way, knowing his medics would follow. He didn't run, but he strode rapidly, scattering lingering Togrutans as he took the most direct route through the congested corridors towards the medbay.

Some of the slaves turned to gawp at the sight but the Commander bared his teeth and growled threateningly, letting his anger be known. It was a predatory gesture, indicating the danger to anyone who got in the way. A few of those shoved aside returned the snarl with their even more threatening mouthful of sharp hunter's teeth but Wolffe took no notice.

He was on a single minded mission, catching sight of Mica and Boost among the tail-heads. His men were by his side in seconds, concern evident.

Mica had to job to keep pace with Wolffe; his mouth open in shock and fear. "Sir, what happened?"

Wolffe shook his head, dismissing the questions. _There was no time and he had no answer._ "I need you to go back to the barracks and check through Jaro's belongings. I need you to check for anything out of place…anything suspicious. This is time critical. Kohl's running bloods but let's cover every angle." He barged through another group of Togrutans. "Bring his datapad back as well, please."

Boost nodded, his expression serious, but Mica looked uncomfortable. "Sir…his belongings are personal…I don't think we-"

Wolffe paused so suddenly that Ghost walked in to his back with a soft _oof_. He turned on Mica with enough emotion that the young trooper visibly flinched. "Mi'…" He swallowed hard, forcing himself to keep eye contact, but soften his tone a little. "…Mi', if we don't find out what's wrong he may never have _need _for privacy again…"

Mica paled at the suggestion and Boost swore under his breath. "…right away, sir."

They both took off at a lope, scattering Togrutans in every direction, while Wolffe resumed his march towards the medbay, glancing down at his unconscious brother – his partner – terrified by his waxy pale complexion and blue tinged lips. He picked up his pace, barking at the medics to keep up despite knowing they were right on his heels.

_C'mon, cyar'vod, keep breathing…_

…_gedet'ye..._

_It's gonna be okay, I promise._


	37. Chapter 37

Chapter 37

Having the Commander hovering was not ideal to the smooth running of the emergency unit, but he was about the one person they couldn't chase away. Kohl gave him a few _looks _that would have most brothers moving but Wolffe either ignored them or didn't even notice. He didn't give any hints either way. He just stood at the end of the bed, watching all the activity with his arms folded tightly across his chest.

Ghost had taken charge of the patient, while Kohl ran the bloods. He was completely silent – which was unlike Ghost, who usually had a very good bedside manner – but while he moved rapidly, he wasn't speak a word.

Crow had joined them when he realised who they'd brought in, risking the wrath of both senior medics and standing his ground. He didn't know enough to offer much help; he wasn't relatively new to the medic ranks, but he was doing his level best to Jaro calm and conscious. A stim shot had helped but not enough to get any logical answers out of him as far as the source of his illness went.

Mica returned to the medbay at such a speed he knocked a med droid flying and narrowly avoided colliding with a brother who was limping out on crutches. He was panting and sweating as he came to a half, practically leaping on Ghost to get his attention. "Sir, look…this was in his drawer!"

Ghost held his hands out so that Mica could drop the fistful of med packs in to his hand. It was more than he should have at any given time but not all that many…

Mica was practically hopping from foot to foot, his expression one of fear as he glanced at Jaro and then back at Ghost. "That's about a tenth of what he has in the drawer...I just grabbed a fist full and ran. Boost's still going through his stuff but there doesn't seem to be anything else strange." He reached out as if he wanted to touch the sniper but Ghost's glare stopped him short. "He is going to be alright…isn't he, sir?"

Ghost didn't reply. He just swore and tossed a packet towards Kohl – a little harder than was really necessary. "It has to be this, but how did you get so many?" He rounded on Crow like a whirlwind. "You were in charge of his care when we were away. What possessed you to give a mentally unstable man this many pills?!" He was so angry he was shaking.

Kohl stepped in, taking over as the higher ranking medic. He half expected Crow to get in Ghost's face, but instead he stayed where he was, continuing his attempts to comfort his ill brother.

Kohl stepped closer to Ghost, gripping his medic brother's arm firmly. "Go and finish running those bloods just in case but I'll treat it as an overdose." He tightened his grip to make sure that his message was getting through. "We'll deal with the 'how's' after but for now let's just get him well." He gently nudged him away, encouraging him step away from the situation until he had calmed down.

Wolffe had moved closer, his visible anger making Ghost's pale in comparison. "We've been six weeks on ship without any long missions. Something has to have been happening since then." He was holding his temper in check – just – but Mica had already moved subconsciously to stand at parade rest, automatically preparing for the bomb to drop. Wolffe turned to fix Ghost with a carefully guarded expression. "I'd like you to step back from this for the time being."

It wasn't worded as an order, but it was clear from the tone that that was exactly what it was.

Ghost froze for a fraction of a second, then stepped away reluctantly. He didn't want to leave, but Wolffe placed a hand on his shoulder and pushed him gently away towards the gap in the curtains.

Once he was sure he was leaving, he turned his attention to Kohl. "Will he be okay?" His tone wasn't that of a man in control. He sounded terrified and it was hidden by a crumbling wall of professionalism. He glanced at Mica who was still ramrod straight and appeared to be trying to make himself invisible. "At ease, Mica…"

_Rookies…but then this rookie had helped bring the issue to light quickly and done exactly as he was asked._

He reached out and ruffled Mica's hair. "You've done well, vod'ika, relax."

Since Kohl was occupied swiping through his datapad like a man possessed, Wolffe took the opportunity to sidle in beside the bed and cautiously perch on the edge to take Jaro's hand. He didn't care about the three brothers standing in the cubicle with them. When he'd seen Jaro collapsed in the 'fresher, he had been sure it was too late. If a brother wanted to take their life, they were usually more than capable of doing so efficiently. His own panic had got him through that impossibly slim gap above the door and he could feel the scrapes and bruises on his hips and shoulders which had gone completely unnoticed in the rush.

He squeezed Jaro's hand and leant in closer, placing a hand on his flushed cheek. "…cyar'vod, Jar'ika…you scared me, verd'ika." He could see Mica staring, but he didn't care. Crow had stilled and stepped back to give them space, but Kohl was so absorbed in his work that he didn't notice. He wanted to rant his frustration but he was too scared that this could still go wrong. "You're going to be okay – not just now, not just this mistake – you're going to be fine. Do you understand? Jar', you're home. You're safe." His tone was low, but it still carried far enough got the others to hear.

Kohl moved in, nudging Crow out of the way so that he could get to the bedside. He had a measure of vibrant blue liquid in a glass which he topped up with water to dilute. It was a crude technique but they didn't have the high tech methods of dealing with substance abuse that the civilian medical facilities would. The distribution of meds was generally so closely monitored that it was very rare for anyone to get far in to an abusive cyclic behaviour but somehow Jaro had managed to slip under the radar. He motioned towards the sterile tray. "Crow, fit an IV and get some fluids running please."

Wolffe watched as the senior medic raised the bed so that Jaro was more or less sitting upright. "What are you giving him?"

Kohl squeezed a sachet of sweet electrolyte fruit juice in to the glass. _Maybe it would improve the taste a little._ He had to get this all down and then another two glasses of plain water without Jaro spitting it all back out again. Considering the smell, he wouldn't blame him for reacting negatively, but it was the first thing he'd found in the recommended treatments that they had available. "You may want to leave, sir. I need to get him to bring up any meds that are in his stomach. I've got no idea how much he's taken…it's not gonna be pretty."

Wolffe shook his head, refusing to budge. He kept Jaro's hand tightly captured in his own. "I'm staying." There was no arguing with his tone. He turned his attention to Mica. "Do me a favour and keep an eye on Ghost."

Nobody was being punished until they got to the bottom of this. He just didn't want high emotions getting in the way of Jaro's treatment.

_Ghost took criticism hard – he feared that constant threat from his childhood where his mutation made his life even harder than that of a normal cadet. He had been deemed 'damaged' and the Kaminoans were ready to remove him at the slightest hint of error. _

Mica nodded sharply and headed out through the gap in curtains, leaving the two medics and the Commander to care for Jaro while Kohl started his treatment.

"Okay, verd'ika, we're going to sit you up and I need you to drink this all down." He stirred the electric blue liquid with a straw to ensure everything was mixed. He slid an arm around Jaro's back to help him sit up properly. "Here we go…Crow…be ready with that bowl…"

* * *

**_My productive streak was halted by exams. I'm still treading water - three done, two more to go - writing will pick up again on Friday when I finish my last exam ever *that's a terrifying thought*. But since it's May 4th, I couldn't go without doing a little something. ~ Atin_**


	38. Chapter 38

**Chapter 38**

Comet had been put in charge of watching over Jaro for the time being and it was proving harder than he would have imagined. They'd already had to move the sniper out of the medbay because he'd woken up and gone from groggy to 'rancor' in a few short minutes. It seemed that the abundance of Togrutan patients in the medbay where disturbing him somehow and he just wouldn't settle. They'd brought him back to the squad room and settled him in bed, but he didn't want to stay put.

Comet wasn't quite as patient as some of his brothers – really someone like Mica or Boost would be better here – but they were all taking their turn on a rota to keep him under surveillance. It was Kohl's orders, and nobody argued with a medic. So he did his best to resist the urge to sit on the sniper in an attempt to keep him in bed and instead he did his best to comfort him. "C'mon, Jaro. You're not making my life very easy, are you vod?" He bundled him back on to the mattress when he tried to make another escape. Whatever Kohl had given him seemed to have him wired yet completely uncooperative.

Kohl had finished his treatment with a dose of activated charcoal to absorb and bind anything still running through his digestive system. It wasn't quite as bad as his neon emetic fluid, but it was still pretty gross. So despite Comet's best efforts, he was still agitated, uncomfortable and restless. He knew he was in a potentially volatile situation. Boost and Mica had unearthed his treasure trove of meds and handed them over to Kohl, and when he'd reached for his datapad, he found that had gone as well. He had nothing left in his already empty personal drawers apart from some fatigues and his unused bodysuits.

He had never had any personal items – he wasn't a collector, and technically, they weren't supposed to keep anything other than their issued items, although the 104th weren't that strict with the rules and many of his brothers had a few harmless items among their kit.

His armour had been destroyed so his armour locker was nearly empty. All he had tucked away under the bed was his helmet, which was damaged beyond repair. He was glad Wolffe had grabbed it for him. It may not be of any use, but it was the final bit of his kit left. His rifle had been left behind and that was probably the hardest blow to take.

He'd carried her through every engagement and it was like losing a limb. It wasn't the same as those rifles used by the regular troopers and he'd not be able to get it replaced until the stopped back on Coruscant.

He'd have to prove himself good enough to be worthy of such a specialised and costly weapon. It was a rifle for only the most skilled of snipers.

_Would he ever be that good again?_

He wanted to get up; to move around and try to ease the discomfort that made sweat prickle on his skin, but Comet kept depositing him back in bed every time he got free. They were both getting on each other's nerves - in a relatively good natured way - and it was a relief when the door hissed open.

Comet looked up, expecting to see one of the squad coming to relieve him of his minding duties, but instead it was the Commander. He leapt to his feet, saluting smartly while keeping a warning finger pointed at Jaro's chest to prevent him from taking advantage of the lull in attention. "Good evening, sir, can I help you?"

Wolffe stepped in and motioned for him to stand at ease. "I'm fine, Comet. You can go and get some supper. I'll stick around here for the time being." He'd just come off duty, having finally solved the issue of locating all the refugees on board in any spare sleeping quarters, with the remainder having to bed down in the training spaces. It wasn't the usual type of headache given to him, but dealing with a shipload of civvies was worse than facing a droid battalion and he'd been immensely glad to complete the necessary work.

Captain Rex had done his best to assist the Wolfpack despite technically being one of those rescued. He'd refused to sit back and watch; a good man around, even if his youngling commander still had that an uncanny ability to make Wolffe furious with just one bat of her eyelids. He had endless admiration for anyone who dealt with her day in day out. She gave him that horrible, skin crawling feeling which he took to mean she was poking her filthy Jedi mind in to his. She knew his mind was elsewhere – she knew some drama had occurred in the 'pack – and she wanted to know what was going on. She may think she was being subtle, but he had grown used to the extremely gently mental touches which General Plo Koon used. His General would only use the Force on his men when it was truly necessary, or if it was in their best interests. He had become accustomed to the touch which was akin to someone stroking his skin with a feather. Commander Tano, on the other hand, was like a sledge hammer. Maybe it was the youngling thing. Maybe she would become more subtle – and respectful – with time.

_He probably wouldn't be around when she was mature to find out. _

That was a sobering thought.

"Good luck with him, sir…he's not a patient patient!"

Wolffe patted Comet's shoulder as his brother passed him to leave the room. There was humour in the trooper's voice, with just a hint of exasperation. "I'll do my best, Comet."

Jaro was off his bunk by the time the door closed, moving around the limited floor space in an exhausted, lurching limp.

Wolffe didn't try to make a grab for him. He was just glad to see him up and about. When he saw him collapsed in the 'fresher he had been so sure that it was suicide and that he would succumb to the drugs. Instead, it seemed that the overdose was relatively small, going by the levels in his blood. It wasn't as if he'd taken a palm full of these meds to end it all.

"What do you need?

Jaro considered him for a moment, still unsure of where he stood with the Commander. They'd stolen occasional moments together, shared a few kisses, but ultimately command came first and they felt like they were in some sort of limbo state – undeniably an item, but still getting to know each other. "I'm sweating." _Oh, smooth, vod… _"I need a shower, but Comet had me imprisoned to the bunk."

Wolffe shrugged nonchalantly and pointed towards the 'fresher door. "Go ahead. I could use a wash."

He followed Jaro in to the 'fresher, collecting towels on his way.

There was room for four to shower at once – half the potential maximum of eight bodies the room could sleep – although they would just budge up and share when more than four wanted in at once. When they returned from a mission there was no desire to wait patiently and it was a free-for-all over space.

The sniper was still reluctant and a little shy of the extensive scarring on his body and would turn under the water so that the worst side was pointing towards the wall.

Wolffe stepped out of his fatigues and joined him, deliberately making the choice to squeeze in under the same shower head. He had the choice of three others that he could use in the small square of space, but he wanted to show Jaro how little the scars meant.

He rubbed the liquid soap between his hands then smoothed the lather of Jaro's shoulders, feeling him tense at the touch on his scarred skin. He kept the touch firm enough to keep him grounded; wanting him to understand and not start to drift off. He'd seen how he disassociated between the feeling and the source often enough, seeming to glaze over. It was like watching those vode with the worst PTSD when they struggled with flashbacks which took them back to the moment. Jaro seemed to go back to that fire when his fear of the scars raised its head. He allowed the firm strokes to travel down the muscular planes of his back, following the flow of water with his hands. "Don't leave…stay here, stay in this moment. Scars are just marks on your skin. That's all. They only hold as much power as you allow them."

Jaro shuddered, turning under the water so that Wolffe could wash his front. "What are you scared off?"

He instantly regretted his question. The relationship was still too fledgling to be asking personal, prying questions, but he needed to know what could possibly scare a man like Wolffe…then maybe he wouldn't feel so bad himself.

Wolffe hadn't expected that line of questioning, but he understood the need to compare yourself with others. Jaro was suffering after a bad experience and he wanted to know if others felt the same way. Every reaction in a clone's life was judged against those of his brothers. "I'm scared of being responsible for the death of brothers. It happens too much under my command."

"…but you always do your best to ensure that there are minimal casualties. You have great records and you make sensible choices. The General doesn't waste life either."

"I try not to risk life unnecessarily, but I had an incident last year where I was very nearly directly responsible for a brother's death." Thinking of Sol was hard. It was always difficult, but it was especially hard when he was running his hands over another man, as if his brief fling with Sol had never happened. "My cybernetic was giving my problems and I would have fallen alone but he was trying to help me and we both fell. He nearly drowned. If he'd died, it would have been my fault…he was already being picked on by some members of the battalion. I put him in the 'pack thinking that would help keep him safe, but it didn't work…."

Jaro could hear the emotion in those words, but he didn't know what to say. It was clear that there was a past there and he didn't know enough to ask the right questions, and he was too exhausted to think too much of it. "The squad are good. They look out for everyone, even young Mica." He tilted his head back to let the water run over his face. "He's young for a peak squad vod."

The mention of the Wolfpack shiny brought a smile to the Commander's face. "He may be young but I think he's wasted here. I want to send him on the ARC training programme, and he will have the best chance to prove his skills if he's in my right hand squad." He ran his soapy hands through Jaro's hair, stroking his fingers through the grey streaks where the wounds met his hairline. It was another thing which obviously bothered Jaro but Wolffe felt it made him look more rogue-ish and handsome. And it wasn't as if Wolffe himself didn't have a streaking of grey at his own temples. He was one of the oldest batches of clones and his high stress role was already taking its toll on his appearance. "Jet had potential too. I thought they would be able to go through training together and work like those 501st ARCs we met. Mica'll make ARC trooper though. He has a career ahead of him beyond that of a regular trooper…he thinks creatively. It'll be a loss to the 104th, but he deserves the chance to use himself to his best ability. It would be selfish to hang on to him."

He carefully rinsed all the suds from his partner's hair just before the timer switched off the shower flow. He sometimes found himself wondering how civvies managed to spend so long doing such a simple task when three minutes was adequate, but the actions of civvies made no sense whatsoever. He handed him a towel to get dried then took the second for himself.

Jaro allowed himself to be fussed over. It was a strange feeling but still pleasant to know someone _wanted _to care for him like this. The touch on his scars made his skin crawl, but Wolffe was so persistent and firm that he found himself relaxing a little. He could do nothing to get rid of them, and they were probably more visible than any other brothers purely due to the fact that his healing process had denied the use of bacta submersion. It was too late now to do anything about them. He was definitely glad to be able to walk again, but these scars would be a lifelong reminder – as if the nightmares weren't enough.

There was a gentle man under the surface of the Commander, and it was still a little strange to see this surfacing when he was so used to assuming that he was always bad tempered. Wolffe wore his temper when he was working but there was a wonderful man underneath, which was probably why his men all respected him so much. He was a good Commander and a good brother. Jaro had landed lucky.

He stepped in to the clean fatigues and followed Wolffe back to the bunk. His stomach still ached and his head was beginning to pound with the narcotic hangover but the little pampering time had been a slight reprieve. It was just a pity that it couldn't go on for longer.

Wolffe waited until he had settled on the bunk, then budged him over and joined him, smiling at his look of surprise. "What? I told Comet I'd look after you. I'd be remiss of my duty if I didn't make you comfortable." There was a smile playing around his lips as he settled back against the pillow.

Jaro stayed propped up on one elbow, glancing towards the door and the empty bunks. "What about the squad? They'll be back soon." He had no idea how the squad would react to this.

Wolffe smiled, gently tugging him down. "Kohl and Mica where there when I was panicking and going all soppy. They will have made an educated guess. They may well have mentioned it to the others." He moved his arm to wrap it around the sniper's shoulder, drawing him against his body on the narrow bunk. "Don't worry about it, cyar'vod…just rest."

* * *

When the rest of the squad returned from supper, both men were fast asleep. Jaro lay on his side with his head resting on Wolffe's shoulder and an arm resting possessively on his chest. Wolffe had his head tilted towards the sniper, lips pressed against his hair.

Mica was the first through the door, motioning for his brothers to be silent as they joined him. "See…I told you he'd be in here…!"

* * *

**_Coursework is done. Exams are done. Stories are go!_**

**_I've maybe struggled a bit with getting Wolffe right across these stories - it's not so easy to necessarily keep his gruffness and get him involved with someone - there's been ups and downs with the success, he was too forward and out of character earlier - and of course there are always those who dislike the smuttier moments in the one-shots - but he's had his cage rattled a bit by Jaro's evident struggles and the desire to hold on to that which you hold most dear is starting to grip him. _**

**_Mica the potential ARC. Go Mica! So proud of him...yes, I know he is my own fictional character, but we can still love our own ones can't we? :P_**

**_~ Atin_**


	39. Chapter 39

Chapter 39

Wolffe woke abruptly and had the three second confusion when he realised he wasn't in his own bunk – and there was someone snoring above him. It didn't take long to piece it all together when he glanced across to see another row of bunks and sleeping brothers. This wasn't his room – it was the squad room. He fell asleep in here when he was minding Jaro.

But Jaro wasn't by his side anymore.

He couldn't have been gone long though because there was still and empty space that Wolffe would likely have rolled over to occupy if he'd stayed asleep.

A quick glance at the glowing chrono on the console told him it was 01.42 and they'd only been asleep for a few hours. Mica was sprawled on his belly on the bunk opposite, almost in arms reach with his face smooshed against the pillow. He looked deceptively young when his features were relaxed in sleep, but the nasty blast scar on his bare back was a firm reminder that he was no shiny, regardless of how young he looked.

Wolffe slipped quietly out of bed, ducking Ghost's arm which was dangling down from the bunk above, and made his way in to the 'fresher with the blanket wrapped around his shoulders. He stepped over to the locked cubicle and knocked softly on the door. "Is that you in there, Jar'?" Of course it had to be – every other bunk was occupied – but it was a gently introduction that avoided startling the sniper. The lighting of the 'fresher seemed blinding compared to the darkness of the squad room.

"…leave me alone…"

A half smile lifted the corner of Wolffe's mouth. He was getting used to Jaro's bristly attitude, which could only be made worse by the withdrawal from the meds. Many people would find him hard to deal with as he tried to distance himself, but Wolffe just forged on, pushing past all the grumpy barriers.

There was nobody who could out-grump Wolffe.

He leant against the door, testing that it was locked. "C'mon, cyar'ika, don't be like that. I only want to help. Either let me know that you will open that door, or I'll come over that partition, and you know that's no idle threat!"

There was a mumbled curse and a soft thump which he took to be Jaro leaning back against the door. "I'm just so fekkin' nauseous…and what could you possibly do to help that."

"Not a lot if you won't let me try."

There was a few moments silence then the lock slid back and Jaro stepped out, looking murderous, but weak. The withdrawal symptoms had started to hit and he was trembling, dizzy and miserably ill. He wanted to get his hands on one…just one pill…to take the edge off it, but the medics had taken them all away and given him an alternative. The assured him that it would give him enough of the chemical to avoid any of the health risks of going cold turkey, but he didn't feel like it had made much difference.

He stepped up in to Wolffe's space and tried to out-stare his partner, scowling viciously. "Do you think you're some sort of god? Can you stop these symptoms, because if you can then you're seriously in the wrong vocation?"

Wolffe just placed a finger to his lips, reminding him to keep the noise down to avoid waking those sleeping in the main room. He transferred the blanket from his own shoulders and wrapped it comfortingly around his partner's trembling frame. "Shut up, cyar'vod. I'm not going to be able to give you some miracle cure, but let me take you through to my room where you can get a little privacy." He ran a hand over his cheek, touching the scars and brushing his thumb against the corner of Jaro's mismatched eye. "And if you won't come quietly, I'll be forced to carry you."

Jaro growled – not entirely sure whether that was a warning or a joke. "We're the same man…you'd struggle to lift me, so I'm not intimidated by that threat." He let out a startled yelp when Wolffe's hands dropped under the curve of his shebs and lifted him off the ground without warning.

The Commander lowered him just as quickly, knowing that it was a fine line between teasing the nauseous man and making him feel worse. It had been enough to make his point and he'd be more than happy to carry him. "You may be the same frame as me, but we carry our muscle differently. You're a sniper – you're built much lighter due to your training, and you've lost a lot of weight and muscle mass. You're practically a feather weight! On the other hand, I'm build like the side of a hanger."

For the first time, a hint of a smile flashed across Jaro's face. He seemed appreciative. "I'm not complaining about your build."

It was the closest to flirtation that they had come.

Sure, they had kissed and hugged, but there had been little in the way of flirting because they were both brutally pragmatic…if there was attraction, then what purpose was there in flirting. They enjoyed each other's company. They didn't play games.

_But it was nice to have that express admiration for his physique. _

"C'mon then." He took Jaro's arm and led him silently out the 'fresher, through the squad room without waking anyone, and out in to the hall.

Of course it was empty at this time of night, apart from cleaning droids and the possible occasional brother returning from his shift.

His room was only a few doors down so it was no hardship to make the move in the middle of the night, and the squad would likely guess where they had gone. He kept his arm on Jaro's for support until they were in his room and the door locked behind him.

He had intended to tuck him up in bed, but the sniper disappeared in to the 'fresher with haste, leaving him to wait patiently. Of course he could follow him in, but that was demeaning. Jaro didn't want someone there, observing him even if it was in support…he didn't need someone to hold his hair, or rub his back…he just wanted as few people as possible to see his moments of weakness.

Wolffe understood that. He felt the same way, generally. He would only accept help when he really needed it, and even then, he often waited longer than he should.

So instead of following, he picked up the discarded blanket and added it to the bunk. It would be useful since a single sheet didn't really cover them both all that well. He fluffed up the pillow and tried to make it as inviting as possible.

He heard Jaro call his name in a quiet, reserved, tone.

When he stepped in to the 'fresher, his heart clenched.

Jaro was slumped against the wall with his face pressed against the cold tiles, looking completely exhausted and miserable. He didn't seem to have any strength left in him.

"…I can't do this, Wolffe."

His voice was so quiet and it cracked towards the end of the sentence.

He was barely hanging on, physically and emotionally, and it was clear in his voice that he didn't just mean hugging the porcelain. It was a tone which encompassed every fear.

Wolffe half expected him to shed a tear, but Jaro was too brave for that. He just closed his eyes and wrapped his arms around himself in an attempt to still the shivers.

He wasn't cold – he just couldn't stop the tremors, and they were exhausting. His muscles ached, his stomach was tying itself in knots and the vague familiarity of a migraine was building up behind his eyes.

_How could all of this be because of one stupid drug?_

He'd never felt so wretched in all his life. No bug, virus or general illness came close to feeling like this…and at least when he'd had his accident, he'd been dosed up on so many pills that he could barely recall the extraction.

And now his express mission was to go without the meds.

_To go it alone._

But he wasn't alone…because Wolffe was here with him.

_Fek, he loved him_. It had been hard to admit, because he didn't want to commit to that sort of feeling, but it completely ambushed him.

_He loved him._

"I love you to, cyar'vod."

He must have spoken out loud, or Wolffe had learned to read minds, but he didn't get a chance to question it. Strong arms gripped him and he was lifted from the cold floor. Wolffe hadn't been exaggerating the degree of his strength and he was held like a fekkin' woman; wrapping his arms around Wolffe's neck and resting his head against his shoulder.

This man could take it all away, even if it was a temporary reprieve.

He was carried through and settled on the bunk, wrapped in blankets with the most tender of care.

"Are you allowed to love one of your men?"

He didn't know where that question had come from, or why he was compelled to ask it right now.

Wolffe paused in his fussing to fix him with a serious gaze. "When I'm out of that armour, I'm just a brother. When I'm off duty, I'm just another member of this unit." He licked his lips as he thought about how to answer the question. There was no simple answer. "The General wants us all to be happy. He doesn't impose limitations on my life outside of command. I can balance work and pleasure and he respects my freedom…we don't get a lot of it. There is more to our life than simply war, cyar'ika. There has to be."

It was a good answer.

It was truthful, honest and as simple as a complex situation could ever be made.

"We can be stronger together than we would ever be apart?"

Wolffe smiled, leaning forward to press a kiss to Jaro's cheek. "Yes, cyar'vod. That is exactly what I mean." He settled down on the bunk, ensuring that he didn't disturb the blankets too much in the process. "That's why you're going to get through this…because you are not doing it alone. We're doing it together."

The conviction in Wolffe's tone made it possible to believe him. This was why the man made such a good commander. He could make his words truth and it was enough to lift Jaro's tattered spirits out of the gutter.

Maybe with Wolffe by his side he could manage to get through this…even if he just got through the night first…or the next hour. It was all progress.

It had to be positive.

He had to _think _positive.

And it became easier to think positive with this powerful man by his side, protecting him from the world that wanted to kick him while he was down.


	40. Chapter 40

Chapter 40

After returning the Togrutan slaves to their home world, the 104th were given an unexpected leave on Coruscant. The ship needed to stop and take on supplies and the decision was made to head for Coruscant. It was a pleasant change; most refuelling was done at smaller stations set up for that purpose and supplies were taken on in dribs and drabs when available, but it had been a considerable length of time since they'd had some true, battalion-wide leave.

Everyone was excited to get out as soon as they touched down. It would be early evening in Coruscant time, and 79's beckoned.

_Everyone apart from Jaro._

No matter how much his squad tried to encourage him and bolster his confidence, he just didn't want to get involved.

79's had been the place where he went on the first night with his squad – he made a fool of himself by getting hammered – and he had no desire to revisit that, especially in his current state.

Kohl had been controlling his meds and keeping him more or less on the straight and narrow, but he knew he still looked terrible. When he stood beside his brothers in the shower he looked practically malnourished. His ribs were prominent and his muscle mass had dropped considerably; he had never been a burly man like Wolffe, but he was beginning to look like a civvie. It wouldn't be so bad in armour but the fatigues clung to his skeletal frame, making it appear even worse than it really was. His plan was to get back in the gym and start doing some exercises now that he was surpassing the general physiotherapy based work set out by Ghost.

Mica was bouncing excitably as they started to get tidied up and prepared for disembarking to the barracks so that the deep clean could be completed in the ship. He had just been given his transfer papers and the outing to 79's was a squad celebration. Wolffe had submitted Mica for promotion to the ARC trooper training programme and his acceptance had come through earlier in the day.

It was a bittersweet celebration. They would miss their younger brother, but it was a prestigious promotion and he deserved it.

Jaro was trying his best to keep a low profile to avoid the continual attempts to convince him to join their outing. He had tidied up his own storage spaces under his bunk, which were practically empty anyway since he was without armour or weapons.

He was doing okay until Wolffe joined them, dressed in his officer's uniform rather than his armour or fatigues. It was a very handsome outfit and Jaro couldn't help but come out of hiding to admire it; once again finding himself in the thick of the outing argument.

Wolffe wrapped an arm around his shoulders, preventing him from retreating. "C'mon, Jaro, you want to celebrate Mica's promotion, don't you?"

He had that half smirk which was the closest he came to a playful smile and it just happened to be the expression that turned Jaro to putty in his hands. Combined with the Commander's uniform, it was just designed to inflame his senses.

"I can't…" Jaro ducked his head, tugging at the end of his tunic. He could feel his hipbones as his hands brushed invisible creases from the fabric. There was no way he was going anywhere looking like a stick insect among his strong brothers. He glanced at Wolffe with a pleading expression; silently begging him to understand his reluctance. He didn't understand what Wolffe saw in him. The Commander purred over his body while Jaro himself loathed it. He was scarred, malnourished and in a bitter cycle with his appetite and destructive mind…he was no catch, yet Wolffe didn't seem to care. "I can't drink anyway with the meds."

Ghost cocked his head and glanced at Kohl for confirmation. "You can have an ale or two…we just might have to carry you home if you have more than that because your tolerance will be down." He smiled encouragingly. "Wolffe'll carry you home if we get you drunk!"

Jaro almost laughed at that image but he still shook his head.

Wolffe tightened his arm around his partner's shoulder, drawing him closer against his side, turning him so that he automatically rest against his chest. This allowed him to speak silently towards Mica.

_Let's give him the armour._

The specially painted Wolfpack armour had been tucked away in Mica's storage space ever since they painted it together that long night in the medbay. Jaro still had no idea about its existence.

Mica grinned excitedly and turned towards his locker.

"Shut your eyes, Jaro." Wolffe pulled him against his chest so that he wouldn't see anything at all.

Mica and Boost went about laying out the freshly painted kit on Jaro's bunk. There was a palpable tension in the air.

_Would he like it? _

_Did he want to be part of the 'pack?_

Jaro did as he was told, squeezing his eyes shut, allowing Wolffe to hold him close. The Commander wasn't one for huge displays of affection in public, but with only the squad around he was willing to get a little cuddly, especially in his mission to bolster Jaro's confidence.

Mica gave it all a final touch and tidy, then stepped back, grinning at the Commander. It had been their joint work to paint this armour and it felt good to see it handed over before Mica left them for his new training.

He'd learned a lot from the sniper and he was happy to see him slowly regaining his confidence. If he could have a little part in that process then it would allow him to leave the squad in a good frame of mind. He could always keep in touch with his brothers, of course, but you never knew what might be around the corner – for any of them. The life of a clone was wildly unpredictable and potentially very short. He wanted to leave them in a positive frame of mind.

"You can look now, brother."

He watched Jaro turn and open his eyes, his gaze immediately settling on the armour. His expression went from confused to blatant shock as he set eyes on the fresh armour.

Wolffe smiled indulgently, winking at Mica and squeezing Jaro's shoulder encouragingly. "Would you come out with us if you wear your new kit? You'll look like part of the team…nobody will give you a second look."

He understood Jaro's fears about his physique and the injuries. Going out in the armour would hide the things which made him uncomfortable, and it wouldn't look particularly out of place in a clone bar – many brothers dropped by still in armour.

Jaro stepped over to the bunk and ran a hand tentatively over the chest plate with its deep grey Wolfpack markings. He seemed to be speechless, but he worked his way through the kit, handling it all and admiring the paint work before turning to his brothers. "Is this mine?"

Boost grinned, ruffling Mica's hair. "All yours, and all thanks to Wolffe and Mica. They painted it while you were still poorly. You've more than earned your place in the 'pack."

Jaro sat down heavily on his bunk, placing the helmet on his lap and staring in to its visor. "I don't know what to say, vode…it's…it's wonderful. Thank you." It was almost too much to take in. Armour was a special thing to a vod, especially when it was painted with a squad colours. It was a mark of camaraderie and brotherhood.

Ghost exchanged smiles with Kohl; both medics pleased to see their brother react so positively after his mental struggle with the injury and subsequent recovery. Something tangible – like new armour – could be just the thing to help the process along.

"You don't have to say anything, Jar'." Wolffe shoved him gently in encouragement. "Just get that kit on so we can go out and celebrate Mica's promotion in style."

* * *

_**There will be one more chapter to round up this story. There will likely be plenty Wolffe/Jaro one-shots but I decided not to keep the overly touchy-feely side of the relationship development within the confines of Haastal - those one-shots will be posted under Breathe - so folk can chose to read them or not. So we're nearly there with this one. I hope it's been an enjoyable story - I'm aware that some didn't like it, or the whole Jaro/Wolffe dynamic - but we can't please everyone! Any writer who achieves that state will be awarded a god-like status.**_

_**And for anyone who has been following my associated exam-stress rambles, I am pleased to say I have passed them all and I have been awarded permission to continue with the final few months which will involve completing my thesis. My marks were decent - I'm happy - 5 B's and 1 A, with just the thesis to complete now. And my A was in the very specialist module of advanced structural analysis - which is where I want to take my career - so I'm walking on air right now. I got top A's for both courseworks - composite beam and slab design/analysis and fabric structure design/analysis. I often doubt my own abilities, but getting those marks back is a solid kick in the shebs to remind me that I am a qualified engineer, and I can do this advanced analysis. My papa was an engineer and he used to tell me stories about his career...he worked in Nigeria for the first five years of his career when my dad was little, and he would tell these wonderful stories about the work, the culture, the animals...and sadly he died nearly 11 years ago now, when I was 15, so he never got to see me follow in his footsteps, but I know he'd be proud if he could see me now. And that's the best feeling ever. So that is enough soppy for tonight, but I am a very happy Jen tonight. And tomorrow, I will be back in that tiny, dark, miserable pc lab...staring at a screen trying to make models of bridges and earthquakes...and y'know what? - I'll be doing it with the biggest grin on my face ever. Apologies for that little side story, but there's always more to writers than just to story - we're a person behind the pen name - and this is the 'me' that I balance with the hobby. **_

_**~ Atin**_


	41. Chapter 41

Chapter 41

The clone bar was heavily occupied but being with a highly regarded Commander like Wolffe generally got you a space and they found a nook towards the back where they could get squeezed in around a table.

Since it had been so long since they last had shore leave, they all had a decent fund in their credit accounts. The system allowed them to trade in these false credits in a small range of locations pre-approved by GAR Command. It was far from a true pay system – it was barely pocket money for these men who were putting their lives on the line day in day out – but it allowed them to buy a few ales. Due to their modified genetic template, and their otherwise plain diet, the clones had a relatively low tolerance for alcohol anyway, so the miniscule amount of credits awarded stretched a little further than it would with a civvie.

Mica took his turn to head for the bar, leaving Jaro and Wolffe alone while the rest of the squad trooped off en masse to the 'fresher.

Jaro had slowly sipped one pint and then put a halt to his drinking for the night. He'd made a fool of himself on his first night out with the squad and he had no desire to repeat that experience. Instead, he had a large bowl of crunchy coin-crabs with a super-spicy dip to enjoy, although his bowl was under constant attack as his brothers swept in to pinch them. He didn't mind sharing, but he made a show of complaining.

He was feeling the warm glow of alcohol in his system, along with the sparkling confidence given by his brand new armour. He matched his brothers, who had chosen to come out in armour as well as a show of solidarity. Only Wolffe wore softs, and he was wearing his officer's uniform which was as formal as the armour – and extremely handsome just to sweeten the bargain.

He watched Mica disappearing through the crowds towards the bar, then selected another tasty morsel to dip in the sauce. His appetite had been pretty poor since his injury, especially with the horrible withdrawal symptoms attacking his body, but he was feeling surprisingly well tonight and the coin crabs were going down nicely. They should serve succulent snacks like this on the ship rather than the endlessly bland food-board and watery stews.

Wolffe was sitting on Jaro's right hand side, shielding his scarred side from view. They were nothing to be ashamed of – and no brother would look twice – but Jaro was extremely self-conscious of them and that was what mattered. He gently touched the sniper's hand to get his attention over the roar of the music and conversation. He opened his mouth to speak, then found himself stumbling over his choice of words. He knew what he wanted to convey, but not how to do it. They were both short tempered, curmudgeonly men – how did you go about showing affection? It was a subtle minefield of emotions that their training had never given them a map to navigate. It was moments like this that he felt like he really was a young teen rather than a battle scarred Commander. He stroked his fingers over the back of his partner's hand before helping himself to one of the coin-crabs to distract himself a little so that he could get his head around his emotions

Jaro turned and smiled indulgently, enjoying the incredibly subtle affection. Wolffe wasn't necessarily the most subtle of men, but here in the bar he seemed to be making careful choices about his displays of affection, and Jaro was touched by his care. Jaro was considerably more edgy around others just now and he appreciated that his brothers made allowances for him to ensure he was comfortable.

But nobody was at the table with them now, and it was unlikely that any of the other brothers were paying much attention to them, so he dropped his own hand under the table to brush his palm along Wolffe's thigh.

The Commander took an abrupt breath. It was discreet, but it was enough to make Jaro grin.

"Make it look like we're sharing a joke and nobody'll ever know."

Wolffe let himself smile, placing his own hand on top of Jaro's to ensure that he didn't stray too far, just in case. He was taken aback by the sniper's sudden confidence, but he certainly wasn't going to complain. "This isn't fair…I don't have armour on…" he breathed, watching carefully for any sign of the 'pack re-joining them. He would have returned the teasing touches but there wasn't much purpose in caressing armour plates and Jaro was still struggling with his own intermittent and unpredictable reactions to physical pleasures so he didn't want to put unnecessary pressure on him when they were out for a relaxing night out. Especially consider this could go no further than a few moments idle fun. He was just pleased to see the joy in his partner's face…to see him enjoying a joke, even if it was at the expense of Wolffe's comfort. He found himself longing for the restricting properties of the armour… "You are truly naughty, but just wait till I get you alone, cyar'vod."

* * *

Mica was returning from the 'fresher a few hours in to the evening when he happened to overhear some brother's from the 501st discussing his own table of vode. Had he passed at any other time it would have been okay, but he just happened to pass at the moment when they were discussing the Commander and Jaro.

He heard what he took to be an inappropriate comment about them from a brother in bulky ARC armour and he his body reacted before his brain engaged properly.

He had the element of surprise and flattened the ARC trooper in a loud clatter of armour and a volley of curses, drawing the attention of everyone in the nearby vicinity, including his own Wolfpack. He may have been the first to land a blow, but the trooper was older, stronger and more experienced than he was and soon had him pinned with blood running from his aching nose.

Wolffe had been on his feet instantly to break up the fight and the ARC trooper was dragged away by his Captain in equal disgrace.

He reached down to help Mica back to his feet and tried to supress his own shock. His men didn't pick fights with brothers and they certainly didn't launch unprovoked attacks. "Mica! What the fek was that all about?" He placed himself in front of the young trooper to stop him glowering around his shoulder towards the 501st brother. "Mi!"

Rex cuffed his own ARC trooper around the ear to stop him returning the glower. "Fives, trooper, stand down!" He didn't know quite what to make of the short, sharp scuffle either. Fives was usually an amiable vod…but then, being flattened unexpectedly was usually a decent excuse to react violently.

"He was making inappropriate comments about you and Jaro, sir." Mica was determined not to be the one taking the blame for such actions. He stuck his chin out defiantly, wiping his nose on the back of his hand and smearing the blood across his cheek. "He deserved that and more."

Fives looked incredulous, turning towards Rex with open mouthed frustration. "I meant no disrespect. I was just remarking that…" He glanced at Wolffe with a slightly nervous expression, noting that Jaro was approaching to join the huddle. "…that the last time we saw the Wolfpack's new sniper, he was on very poor terms with the good Commander and now…well…"

Rex slapped a warning hand on Fives' shoulder, beginning to apologise for his inappropriate behaviour but instead of casting his usual withering glare, Wolffe actually barked a short laugh.

That was – unexpected – and definitely the first time Rex had ever seen his short tempered brother laugh.

"Well, to be fair to the ARC, that is true." Wolffe cuffed Mica and pushed him forward towards Fives. "And this bold young man is bound to join your ranks, and it would seem his temperament is well matched." He moved over to make room for Jaro to join them, keeping a supportive hand on his back.

Fives was staring at Mica in a mix of disbelief and frustration. "You're gonna make this guy an ARC? Force help us…" A smile began to spread despite his scepticism. "With a spark like that, I think you'll do just fine." His attention shifted to Jaro, taking in his injuries with a keen eye. "You've been through the mill a bit since we last met, Nine-Six."

Jaro looked confused for a moment before realising who he was speaking to. "You're one of the ARC troopers who saved my shebs after we crash landed...wow, small galaxy. I have a name now…Jaro."

Somehow he knew that that would bring a laugh to the boisterous ARC's lips and he wasn't disappointed. Fives threw his head back and guffawed, slapping a hand on his should in mirth with such force he knocked Jaro off balance.

"…I have a name, and some balance issues…" the sniper continued, steadying himself against Wolffe's solid shoulder.

"Apologies, vod, but 'Jaro'...why Jaro." Fives wiped tears of laughter from his eyes and grinned widely at them, searching from face to face for an answer.

"Jare'la ori'ramikad," murmured Wolffe, repeating the affectionate insult he had used when Jaro was injured. "He stood his ground in suicidal conditions and saved the lives of many vode, while nearly losing his own. He earned his name in blood, sweat and tears…and not only his own."

Fives gave a nod of satisfaction. "I knew you had something special in you. We don't go trekking over wilderness for just any old brother."

There was a flicker in his tone which prompted Jaro to ask the next question. "Your brother?"

Fives' expression shuttered for a moment before he put on the brave face that he always slapped in place when Echo was mentioned. "We last Echo twelve days ago." He didn't elaborate…he couldn't bring himself to elaborate. It was still too fresh in his mind. It haunted his unguarded moments and destroyed his dreams. He was all that was left now of Domino Squad. He would do them proud.

Jaro blinked, processing that unexpected information, before stepping forward and bravely wrapping his arms around the much bulkier ARC trooper. "I'm sorry, brother"

It wasn't much, and it never seemed enough to convey the true feelings of remorse at hearing the loss of any brother, but there as little more they could do.

He felt Fives tense for a moment before returning the hug equally hard. "Thank you, vod'ika. He'll never be forgotten."

Mica had watched the exchange from the side-lines and had dropped his head in shame upon hearing of this brother's loss. Coupled with his own misinterpretation of the scenario, he was left feeling incredibly guilty. He stepped away and felt a hand grip his shoulder, preventing him from retreating too far. He looked around and was met by Wolffe's calm, mismatched gaze. "Sir?"

Wolffe steered him away a few steps in to a quiet corner where he could calm his little brother. "Thank you, Mica. I appreciate you standing up for our family. Neither of you are at fault here. It was just a misunderstanding." He turned him in the light, getting a good look at his bloody nose. "Are you okay?"

Mica sniffed tentatively, prodding at the bridge of his nose. "Nothing broken. I'll live." He took a napkin from a nearby table to mop up the blood, wiping a splash from the front of his armour. "Sir?"

His voice was once again young and nervous; very unlike the bold Mica they had just seen.

"Sir…do you really think I'm ready for this?"

Wolffe wrapped an arm around his brother's shoulders and led him back towards their table to re-join the 'pack. "Of course you're ready, Mi'. You're an outstanding trooper and you have the right sort of mind for the training programme. You're no younger than Fives would have been when he trained. You'll do fine." He may be a cold, short-tempered man to outsiders, but Wolffe hadn't gotten to his position without learning how to instil confidence in his men. Mica was a special brother and he would go a long way. He just needed to have the confidence in himself and that was something which came with time.

Jaro returned to the table not long after they did, taking up his seat by Wolffe's side and glaring at his empty bowl. It seemed that his brothers had taken advantage of his absence to consume all the savoury bites. "You're meant to love me…yet you steal the food from right under my nose. What kind of brothers are you pretending to be?"

He couldn't keep his anger up though. He understood how the experience of brotherhood was precious, and realising that Fives had just lost the man he held most dear had been a firm reminder to the sniper.

He had lost his original squad. He had nothing left but his memories of them, but he couldn't let that shape the rest of his life.

He had a squad of brothers who had his back and who trusted him without question.

And he had Wolffe.

He had a great deal more than many men would ever experience.

He had more than many civvies who may be convinced they held possessions that made them superior to a slave army, but those civvies lacked the love and protection that came from a family of brothers. He got to experience a bond that most beings would never get close to.

He may be struggling each day with his recovery. It may seem like an impossible mountain to climb. But he was succeeding, little by little, with the help of all those around this table.

_Yaim'la._

This was home.

* * *

_**This is where we will end with Haastal. Thank you for everyone who has taken the time to read this and for those who have reviewed and shared their opinions.**_

_**As always, there are other stories active, and more in the process of being written, so if you've enjoyed Haastal, please check out my other stories if you haven't done already done so. **_

_**Thank you!**_

_**~ Atin**_


End file.
